


The King of the Sun

by dacadaca, Khemi



Category: Homestuck, MS Paint Adventures
Genre: Alternate Universe - Derse/Prospit Royalty, Alternate Universe - Fantasy, Assassination Plot(s), Dark Magic, Demon Deals, Demons, Dreamselves, Drugs, Family Secrets, Forbidden Love, Ghosts, Hand & Finger Kink, Illustrated, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Intrigue, M/M, Magic-Users, Mind Manipulation, Necromancy, Past Abuse, Past Character Death, Past Sexual Abuse, Politics, Recovery, Secret Marriage, Secret Relationship, Sexual Content, Sexual Tension, Slow Build, Temporary Character Death, Tumblr Prompt, Violence
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-04-15
Updated: 2016-12-18
Packaged: 2018-06-02 08:20:10
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 99,045
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6559138
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dacadaca/pseuds/dacadaca, https://archiveofourown.org/users/Khemi/pseuds/Khemi
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Dirk Strider has long lived with the legacy of his brother's crimes against the Empress of Derse. When she finally comes to him with an offer to repay the debt he has no choice but to accept, and so he finds himself in the golden palace of Prospit, seeking to kill a King.</p><p>But there's a different game in play than the one he believed he was a part of, and his place in it is not what he expected. The Empress never intended to kill the King of the Sun, but to make a pawn of a Prince instead.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. The King is Dead

**Author's Note:**

> From an anon prompt on Tumblr, thank you to my now known and [chef kissy] good inspiration from a simple start prompter.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In the golden palace, a man moves with a mission, but nothing that the Empress does is as obvious as it seems.

 

Despite what Rose had told him, getting into the palace was easy.

Dirk had expected more from the oft-mentioned _magical defenses,_ but they certainly didn’t stop him, and if anyone ahead was warned, their stellar choice of protective measures was a pair of drunken guards who fell asleep before he’d so much as considered which of the knives across his chest would look prettiest driven into their backs.

This was not exactly the gauntlet he’d expected.

In retrospect, perhaps it made more sense that it would be this way. Talk in the purple spire was always easy to come by, and it when it turned to discussion of these golden halls it always held the same hushed concerns, the stories of a leadership brutal and unforgiving enough to make the Empress look like a gift from the Gods. Her rule was strict, but at least it was _fair,_ the murmurs reasoned, and then spun tales of how what was gold was more often bathed red in blood and malice, the reasons for each new execution more fickle that the one that came before.

Perhaps in a place like this, there was no need for strong protection. Fear might be enough to keep most lesser men at bay.

He knew the palace layout from the maps Roxy had managed to _procure_ somehow, a feat she had explained with nothing more than a wink and a little tip of her glass. Fears they were inaccurate faded as he followed the paths he’d spent sleepless nights beating into his own memory, edging his way over gradually taller rooftops and keep in the shadowed corners that no window could clearly see. He was not a lesser man, and fear couldn’t halt his path, another small wall scaled easily and leaving him creeping carefully beside the old stone of one of the tallest towers.

Dirk was close to the head of the serpent, and Gods willing if his aim was true tonight the halls ran red with blood from its very own throat.

He held his breath as he finally climbed a simple ornamental barrier, and found the doors onto the balcony he was seeking were left daringly open, gossamer drapes glittering as they caught on the wind and stretched their arms to the moon, daring its champion in to come and kill the sun. The air that was held in his lungs slipped out, taking some of his worries with it but leaving more of a new flavour.

Perhaps this King didn’t need protecting because the _point_ was for an assassin to get so far. What if only a trap awaited him?

He had no choice but to press onward and find out.

Rose had warned him bluntly- a feat for her and the riddles he thought were forged into her soul- that magic was as common in the golden city as secrets were in the midnight citadel. He knew that someone being apparently unarmed couldn’t guarantee his safety, and that rooms that seemed empty couldn’t be trusted, even if thoroughly searched. All of this- the tower, the open curtains, anything that laid within- it could be lies, and ones his eyes would trust without question if they were skillfully threaded through reality.

She had pressed a charm into his hand, and told him it would let him see through any such powers, but that he had to use it at the moment it was needed most, for it wouldn’t last long enough to use for more than that briefest instant. No matter how easy it would be to grasp the vial at his neck and break it, no matter how much he wanted to use it and know what really faced him…

No. It was clear there was only one moment Rose could mean.

He had to know it was the right man whose head he took for the glory of the night.

Among the blades whose silver caught the moonlight, there hung another, a black knife across his breast that the Empress had pressed into his palms when she brought him an order and a purpose. Unlike Rose’s gift, offered hurried and soft, the touch of her dark fingers had lingered, left a weight that he still felt each time he touched the hilt of it, the promise of a land she would free by wrapping it in finer chains.

Prospit couldn’t be taken by force while it was led with an iron fist that gave its army an impenetrable resolve.

“Cut off the head of the snake,” the Empress had told him, voice sweet and lilting and dipped in poison, “and the body can do little before it dies.”

Dirk took the black knife in his hand as he had with her eyes upon him, and here, alone in the darkness with his home far enough behind him it seemed a world away, he wondered for the second time if this was all worth it, if it would accomplish anything beyond his own head on a spike and a war unleashed because of it.

“ _But there’s a debt to be repaid, boy,_ ” she reminded him in his memory. “ _If you want that taint in your blood washed out, then you’ll bring me what I want._ ”

His knuckles turned white, and he slipped onto the balcony.

If there was a trap waiting, it was well and truly hidden, the room beyond the fluttering drapes plainer than whatever he’d been expecting. It held the sign of the sun grandly on its walls, crossed over with the wings that marked the bloodline of the King, but beyond that it looked more the lodgings of a commoner than a noble. No adornments on the furniture, no signs of wealth, none of the jewels and fine craftsmanship he had known even in his own home, before it was stripped from him.

Just… a room, and within it a bed, not even posted or guarded by curtains.

This didn’t feel right.

His steps were silent as he moved forward, black knife waiting and ready, his expectations once more cracking when he found the face of the man who was sprawled beneath the thick sheets was indeed the one he’d been shown time and time again in paintings of his prey. That was… improbable. The Empress slept in velvet and satin and surrounded by the wealth she had claimed with each conquest and each offering to her come time for Derse to prove itself worthy of her ongoing favour.

The idea that a King would sleep in _this_ was…

No.

_No._

He wasn’t enough of a fool to believe it, not when Prospit had enough wealth to coat all of itself in silver and gold.

Dirk braced for whatever might come, might be here, stance firm and blade prepared to strike, ready to take whatever he’d willingly walked into, then found the vial Rose had hung around his neck, the glass breaking beneath his fingers and the charm within making his head spin as it tore apart whatever enchantments hung vivid before his eyes.

Magic stung and tasted like ether, making him blink out the tears that welled fast in them as a golden thread slid painfully into view and snapped an instant later, both ends rushing apart like a lit fuse that both fled to the door and down into the bed that was briefly blurred out of his vision. She hadn’t warned him it would feel like _this,_ if he’d have _known-_

“ _Holy smokes!_ ”

It was the only warning he had that the sleeper was no longer sleeping, and he swung the knife down, fast, trying to buy himself enough time to regain his sense but finding his wrist caught by a firm hand instead. His other hand dropped and came forward into a punch, but it was caught as well in just as vice-like a grip, before a foot planted firmly in his gut and stole any of the breath he’d managed to collect.

_Shit-_

His arms were dragged unceremoniously forward, his weight pressed to that same sole as the world span and he was thrown bodily forward as the King rocked his whole body backwards to take Dirk’s weight. Dirk did his best to brace for the wall that met him, thankful that at least it knocked some of his sense back into place as he scrambled up and hurried to see the knife that had been flung out of his reach.

“Who in blind _blazes-?_ ”

The voice caught his attention again and Dirk wasn’t sure if he was relieved or even more confused that the man speaking it hadn’t altered at all in appearance, still clearly the King he had come hunting. Instead of rage or fear or any of the _number_ of appropriate emotions Dirk could imagine one feeling on discovering an assassin in their bedroom, he simply looked _perplexed,_ jumping over the bed to grab the dark knife that had caught in the covers and levelling it at Dirk’s chest as he looked him up and down with furrowed brows.

“You’re from Derse,” he murmured, meeting Dirk’s gaze incredulously. “But- _no one_ leaves Derse.”

“I’ve got a feeling you’re wrong about that,” Dirk replied as casually as could manage with his throat still feeling raw from the fumes. “Unless I got _really_ lost on my way to the high street, I think you’ll have to reevaluate.”

For some reason, Dirk had expected his eyes to be the same colour as the palace, just as the Empress’ gaze burned with the colours of the night sky, but instead they were soft, and green, and clouded as they moved from his face to the knife and back again.

“...Were you here to kill me?”

“That-” was the stupidest question he’d ever been asked. “-Was the plan.”

“ _Why?_ ”

Dirk’s face locked back up, no reply slipping out this time as an old wall slammed back into place inside him, and the man before him stared a moment longer before flipping the knife up the catch the thin blade instead, holding the hilt out to Dirk in its place.

“Well then, if that’s really what you’re after, you’d better be quick about it. The ward you tripped with have the palace sealed tight in a minute or two, and if there aren’t guards here before then you can bet your left leg they’ll be here right after.”

Dirk blinked.

“...What?”

“Look, I took you by surprise when you were scuppered by what I gather was a good helping of poison shoved in with that nifty dispel you were using, but you’re armed to the teeth and the way you landed means you know what you’re doing in a fair fight.” He paused, glancing at the door. “...And my men fight fair, but I’m a bloody stuffed bear if _you_ do. Either a lot of people die today, or one person does. That’s not much of a choice, is it, mate?”

“You’re telling me to kill you.”

“I’m telling you if you’re not going to leave without killing anyone, then do what you came for and leave innocent people out of it.”

If this was a distraction, it was a shockingly effective one. Everything about this- it continued to feel _wrong,_ but it was poison in a vial and poison on pink lips that turned it sour, not a face that was just what it had seemed to be, and a hand that held steady the knife meant for the heart behind it. His conviction had never been as steeled as the Empress seemed to think; or perhaps it was _just_ as weak as she’d known, and that was why there’d been poison in a friend’s offering, and such a grand mission given to the brother of a traitor.

“I wasn’t here to kill you,” Dirk muttered as the denial he’d held like a shield finally snapped.

“Good.” The King lowered the knife, letting out a long breath he must have been holding as he waited for a reply. “Then- under the bed. Quickly.”

Dirk shook his head, feeling like whatever was happening was far away from the path his mind was still rushing down, the truths he couldn’t understand why he hadn’t seen. “I-”

“ _Under the bed. Now._ ”

To his own surprise, Dirk stepped forward, and did exactly as he was told.

It was cramped, the frame close enough to the floor that if he hadn’t been struggling for food while he travelled he might not have fit, but as it was he managed to work his way across to a snug hiding space beneath it, his breathing loud and his heart pounding as reality reconnected with his thoughts and he turned his head to watch the bare feet of his apparent saviour pace along the bed, the mattress creaking and the light around him dimming as the sheets were jerked and thrown enough to block out some of the little light that remained. Somewhere below a bell was ringing, distant through the floorboards, and an answering curse was muttered above him before the bed dipped and the slats of the frame bowed down against him, those feet he’d been watching now just silhouettes against one of the sheets, marking when the King had come to rest.

So here he was, then. Pressed against the floor beneath the bed of the King of Prospit, who was _currently sitting above him,_ having failed in a murder attempt against himself but somehow not being strung up by guards.

On cue, the door slammed open.

“Your Highness-!”

“Nightmare.” The answer came without hesitation, sheepish and edged with a drowsiness that was entirely false. Despite it, Dirk heard men move around the room, saw boots pass in the gaps he could still see in a check he prayed wasn’t as thorough as it needed to be. “I already checked for anything else, but seems I was just a tad quick off the mark in my sleep.” He yawned, and there was the ether sting in the air again. “Ah, see. That’ll do me no blasted good if it keeps going off like I’m a lad who barely came of age. I’ll talk to Lady Crocker in the morning, get something for it. I’m sorry for the trouble you boys had rushing up here, but your vigilance is admirable, and you can stand down.”

“Of course.” Metal shifted, a chorus of bows, before there was a general retreat, not as heavy as the entrance had been. One remained, at least, and spoke again- “The ward will need to remain in place until the rest of the palace is checked, of course.”

“Of course.”

“And with the coming gala, I humbly suggest it would take more power to lower and raise it than it would to keep it in place until after the festivities have ended.”

“Cracking idea, makes my embarrassing little misfire less of a burden. You’ll tell Lady Harley it’s with my blessing, and she can find me if she disagrees.”

“Yes, your Highness.”

The last pair of boots left with the slow creak of the doors closing, and all Dirk could hear was his breathing, and the complaints of a mattress being gripped too tightly by broad hands. He didn’t dare move, beyond rolling his head to stare up at the fabric above him, between the wood, eyes flitting between irrelevant loose threads and old stains until his heart eased, and everything turned quiet and as calm as it could be.

He had rather begun to fancy that this was all a dream, and a strange one at that. Perhaps Rose’s _whatever_ it had really been had just knocked him out, and he was really being dragged to a dungeon to await an execution while he imagined a world in which a man he’d been raised to fear protected him in a kingdom he’d always been taught to despise.

Against all the odds, that would be the _least_ bizarre truth.

“You alright down there?” He heard at last, and considered carefully before wiggling his way back towards the edge of the bed.

“It’s-” Dirk paused long enough to get his head out, sucking in a breath of fresh air before he finished worming free. “- _tight._ ”

“Wasn’t really built to house a fella of your size, sorry about that. I’ll make sure the next one I get is a fair shot higher, really give it a roomy feel for hiding vagabonds.”

“Sure we’d appreciate it.”

Dirk looked to the window, taking one step before the bed creaked.

“I wouldn’t suggest that.” There was no malice in the King’s tone, no threat, just a warning given with a soft underbelly of concern. “The place is littered with lines when the wards are up. You only have to trip one and every man and his mother will be there quick as you like. I can’t guarantee there’ll be many beds to hide under out in the open.”

“You seem _thrilled_ at the prospect of your men catching an assassin,” Dirk said flatly, curling his hands into fists before he turned and faced the man he absolutely should have been running through, cutting down, doing _something_ to that wasn’t _civil conversation._ “I had no idea trying to kill someone was such a polite affair.”

“You’re not an assassin,” he was told, words just as curt. “Being good in a fight doesn’t make you a killer, no matter how many times you tell yourself it does.”

“ _Stop,_ I- I could-” Dirk took a step forward. “I _have_ killed people.”

“Who were you protecting?” The King didn’t flinch, though something in his eyes flickered. “Yourself? A friend? Family?”

“ _Stop this._ ”

“One of them, then. And who are you protecting now? The Kingdom I couldn’t give a toss about going to war with? The poor, clearly mistreated men of mine I’m sure you could’ve wiped out if you weren’t in shock?”

“I-”

“Did she really make you think this was the _right thing to do?_ ” A blur and the black knife was embedded in the floor beneath his feet, moonlight strips of white tracing its shape accusingly in the gloom. “Then _do it._ If you think you’re the hero of whatever story the black queen is telling- have at me. Go on. _I dare you._ ”

“ _I’m not a hero,_ ” he snapped back, before he could bite his tongue. “Don’t- _say that._ ”

“Did I touch a nerve? Want me to poke around and find another?”

“ _No!_ ”

“Then _tell me why you’re here._ Tell me what you’re going to _do._ ”

“I-” Dirk felt reality sliding out of his reach again, emotions tearing him in different directions that led into a space where everything was falling apart and he couldn’t touch any of it at all. “I _don’t know._ ” He didn’t know anything, he didn’t know why what he’d thought so clearly was now indistinct blurs that slipped through his fingers when he tried to catch the thoughts he’d once held fast to. “I don’t… know.”

“What _do_ you know?” The King spoke softer again, careful, raising his hands cautiously like a father might soothe a child but not managing to hide the alarmed recognition in his gaze as he looked between Dirk’s eyes. “Start with something real, mate. We can work up from there.”

Everything was watercolours all washed together, names and faces and places that he should have remembered all scattered and burning up in a fire that ate away at everything he was trying to recall. He felt cold, and it took him a moment to remember that it was fear, and that something inside his head was leaving moth-holes in places he couldn’t tell apart from where nothing had ever been, and that the ether sting in his nose hadn’t gone away, just settled as it did its work.

Magical poison would never do something as simple as _kill_ him.

A hand touched his shoulder and he startled back to the room, unfamiliar even though he was standing in it, the face in front of him a ghost from what felt like a dream and only seeming _real_ where it shone green.

“Start with your name,” the man encouraged, and it took him a moment to find the letters, to form them together.

“Dirk. Dirk-” _Something._ Something _important._ ”I can’t-”

“That’s alright, pal, don’t worry, we can help that. We’ll have you fit as a daisy, I promise, you just have to listen to me. I’m Jake, you can call me Jake. Try and remember that, won’t you?”

“Jake,” he repeated back, but it felt like walking in quicksand. “I can’t…”

“Bugger, it’s going to take a darn sight more than luck to fix this blazing mess, isn’t it?” Jake squeezed his shoulder, firmly. “Alright, listen to me, we’re going to see someone and you need to stay _quiet,_ can you do that?”

Dirk nodded, and when what felt like cold water came running dry down his spine, it took him a long moment to muster a response, a question he got halfway through before he forgot the words.

“Dang witches and their ruddy _poisons_ ,” Jack- was it Jack?- muttered, taking his hand and pulling him forward. Poison. The word almost meant something.

Reality slid away again, and his body walked as it was led, his mind floating on fumes of ether and power and watching the painted memories he had once recalled all running in rivers down the walls.

 

 

The girl in blue had yelped twice, once when James- was it James, no, it was...- walked in without knocking, and once when heat finally replaced the chill that was tingling on Dirk’s skin and her eyes snapped to him like she hadn’t seen him, which he very dimly thought perhaps she _hadn’t._

“ _Jake,_ ” she dropped her hands from her face to clasp them in front of her, looking between them both and squinting. “It is _far_ too early in the morning for _whatever_ you’re trying to pull here, buster.”

“I know, Jane, I know, and I wouldn’t be here if it wasn’t _very_ important, but I _really_ need you to help and I’ll let you order that whole blasted banquet all by yourself like you wanted if you’ll just take a tiny peek.”

Her lips pursed, her arms folding over her chest before she shot a hand out to wave accusingly at Dirk, who stared absently back, still more interested in how it felt to watch the memory of walking here unravel and disappear.

“ _That_ is a _Dersite spy,_ your _Highness._ ”

“He’s an assassin, _actually_ , if you want to get all pedantic about _that_ kind of malarkey.”

“ _Jake!_ ”

“Jane, _please,_ he’s been messed up something fierce and I don’t know if it’s going to last but I’d much rather not take the chance.” Jake wrapped his arm around Dirk’s shoulder when Dirk started to wander away, dragging him back in firmly. “I don’t want to make this an order. Look at him- he’s in no state to do any harm to any poor sod but himself.”

“...What happened to him?” Jane answered after a long moment of just watching them, her shoulders slumping as she put her hands on her hips.

“He had one of those swell little charms for seeing when you’re power-blind, but let’s say someone pulled a fast one and whatever they’d shoved in there wasn’t meant to do more than make a mess of him. I _know_ what you’re going to say, I do, I know you think I’m hopping straight into a beast’s gullet and salting myself on the way down, but hear me out?” Jake paused, long enough for her to groan and nod, and then he carried on hopefully, ”whoever did this to him wasn’t trying to harm _me,_ and my enemy’s enemy is at _least_ deserving of a spot of help when he gets screwed, wouldn’t you say?”

“No,” Jane said coldly. “I would not say that at all.”

“ _Jane,_ ” Jake started, and she raised a hand, sighing and rolling her eyes to the heavens.

“ _However,_ ” she continued, “if it matters so darn much to you, I’ll see what I can do. If nothing else, maybe he knows something useful that we can use to sleuth out what that evil woman is playing at, and if he _doesn’t_ then he can face a trial in fair mind and I’ll have him punished by the word of the law for what he was trying to do.”

“Oh, Crocker, you’re a _blessing-_ ”

“Just bring him here and sit him on the bed, before I change my mind.”

 

 

The dawn was creeping through her drawn curtains by the time Dirk remembered to panic.

He jolted as it hit him, jerking back from where her softly glowing hands were cupping his temples and scrambling backwards over the plush blankets that they’d piled behind him to keep him in place. Jane’s eyes blinked open as she gave a surprised _oh,_ her fingers curling and her hands pulling quickly to her chest as Dirk ran out of bed and tumbled straight onto the hard floor.

“Dirk, come on, calm down,” Jake hurried over, and more memories presented themselves, burning bright; a face in the dark drawn with concern, feet by a bed that pressed heavy on his chest. “Please, chap, Jane’s nearly done, don’t go cuckoo on me now.”

A bed, guards, then fresh air; memories being buried in smog, poison, a betrayal.

Dirk’s jaw set as he grasped the bed and dragged himself to his feet.

“What was she doing?” He asked, because that, at least, they had to have an answer for.

“I was healing you, before you so rudely interrupted.” Jane had glasses on now, blue eyes blown beyond natural size in the lenses, but her gaze was just as cutting as it sliced straight through him. “You’re _welcome,_ by the way. Gosh, how _charming_ of you to thank me.”

“Why were you healing me?”

“Because our beloved Ruler is _off his rocker,_ that’s _why._ ”

“ _Hey now,_ ” Jake replied, cheeks dark as he touched Dirk’s shoulder and then recoiled fast when Dirk instinctively swung at him. “ _Hey!_ I don’t want to hurt you, and I’d really rather you not hurt me if we can get through this mess without it, mercy me.”

Dirk stared at him long enough to judge he was telling the truth, unless the truth in his eyes was magic within magic and all of this was still some idiotic dream. As it was, there was no choice but to believe it, no way to escape if it _was_ an illusion. Reluctantly, Dirk lowered his fist and dropped his head, breathing to a slow, even pace to try to drive out the last ghosts of panic from his chest.

“There, that’s… Well, it’s a start, and given you had a humdinger of a night I’ll take it.” Jake touched his shoulder and this time Dirk allowed it without complaint, though his muscles wound tight and ready to react. “You were tricked, weren’t you? Don’t know anyone who’d shove a vial of mind-fuck up their nose of their own accord. Do you know who did this?”

An image of Rose, her face carefully blank and her words far too blunt entered Dirk’s mind, and he forced it away before it started to sting.

“A friend was compromised,” he said slowly. And for what? To send him here, to die alone in the bedroom of a King the Empress had demanded dead? What purpose did it serve, what did it get her, beyond another name on a dark list crossed off with a fanged smile. “The Empress wanted to make an example of me, but I don’t know who it was meant for.”

“I’d say it was for me, but I hope you’ll pardon that I haven’t the faintest clue who the devil you are, and a stranger poisoned and left for dead in my room is _unsettling_ but it’s hardly anything I couldn’t shake off with a few days to let that doozy settle.” Jake scratched at the back of his neck, smiling awkwardly despite the strain that showed around his eyes, and for the first time Dirk just took him in. Here, in the light, away from the adrenaline and the foul spell, he looked anything but imposing, and regal.

Dirk couldn’t imagine anyone being afraid of him, except an Empress who knew something Dirk couldn’t see in Jake’s face.

After living so long in Derse, after seeing all that he’d seen, Dirk could see one thing clearly in it, at least. This man before him was not a murderer, or a tyrant. However he ruled, it was not in the way folk tales and propaganda had explained, and no matter how hard it was to shake the impulses they had left crawling under Dirk’s skin, curiosity was washing them out, leaving a faltering sort of courage in their wake.

“My brother turned on her, when I was young,” he said at last, the truth feeling unnatural on lips more used to lying. “It’s possible the example was meant to his supporters in Derse.”

“Then why bother sending you all the way here?” Jane mused as she decided he was safe enough to approach, placing a glowing hand to his chest that made his skin prickle with warmth. Despite every desire to force her away, to scratch away the feeling, Dirk held steady, gritting his teeth and watching Jake step back, starting to pace her room in long strides with his hands clasped behind his back in a semblance of dignity, the first sign of anything _royal_ he’d shown so far.

Dirk looked back down as the warmth changed, moving over the spot in his stomach where Jake’s foot had likely left a bruise. “Maybe she wasn’t expecting me to get this far.”

“A miscalculation like that isn’t like her,” Jane answered firmly, glancing up at his face. When she was casting, he could see a glow to her eyes, like sunlight through stained glass. “And the vial Jake described- it wouldn’t have done you any use until you got here, and it certainly oughtn’t have killed you. So, what message do you send alive but emptied in the golden palace, and who in Prospit is meant to hear it, Dirk, Agent of Derse?”

“-Strider,” he corrected her, on instinct more than anything, and blinked when Jane’s hand was snatched back, the light in her eyes spluttering out.

“What?”

Jake had halted, turning to look at him with an unreadable expression, and Dirk could feel his throat tighten as he looked between them, once more aware he was in a room in a city far from home with two who held magic and- ah, yes, and a knife-belt that had been helpfully emptied of knives, no doubt at Jane’s insistence. He held himself as firm as he could, proud in his demise, if their kindness was to break on a whim.

“Given I was betrayed by Derse,” he explained with all the calm exterior he could collect himself into, “I’d rather you just used my name.”

“Strider,” Jake repeated back to him, as Jane took a full step away.

“Dirk Strider- You-” He looked between them, faltering as he understood without understanding. “You _know_ that name?”

His eyes met Jake’s, and for what felt forever they just stared at each other, the green that had pierced his poisoned thoughts anchoring him to reality once again when the silence threatened to urge him away. Each second that past seemed to stretch, but he could see the pause was not empty, see the thoughts that left Jake’s expression subtly shifting and words parting his lips as they were almost spoken.

“Get John,” the King said at last, not looking away from Dirk’s face.

Jane turned and hurried out, gathering the fabric of her dress in her hands so she could move closer to a run, the door closing swiftly behind her and leaving Dirk alone in a room for the second time with a man who should have been dead at his feet, and once more the scales were tipped in the wrong direction. Not by a blade or a kindness, but that damned curiosity, itching in him as he took a slow step forward.

“Was it a message to you?” Dirk asked, voice quiet but not calm, urgent in a way that burned in his blood.

“To all of us.”

“You…” His heart beat faster, his mouth dry as he took another step, another chance. “You knew him, didn’t you?”

“...How could I not?” Jake nodded, and Dirk’s breath grew strained with the sting of a memory he could barely grasp after so long denied the chance to say the same. “I used to sit in my Grandmother’s court, before she- Before.”

“He came here?”

“Of course he-” Jake paused, then looked at him as if he’d only just _seen_ him, eyes widening a moment later. “Hell’s bells, do you not _know_ why he- But-”

“ _Why did he come here?_ ”

“Because _he_ didn’t turn on _her,_ ” Jake replied as his voice turned sharp and heated, closing the gap between them before Dirk could react and clapping his hands firmly to Dirk arms. “That leather-clad waste of a witch turned on _him_ and consarnit I bet she spent every day of the last twenty years convincing you and everyone else she could that that wasn’t the truth!”

“ _I don’t understand,_ ” Dirk flinched as Jake shook him, the anger on the other man’s face making him grasp for knives that weren’t there in a panic.

“Of course you don’t! Because she played you! Just like she played _him_ and _Grandma_ and _the whole of your stupid purple public._ ” Jake let go to grasp his face instead and Dirk quickly moved apart from him, put back the space Jake had taken. “She _knew_ we were trying to fix it- She _knew_ so she sent _you_ without a _clue_ so you’d knock your own brains out and that’d be that blasted line snuffed out like a candle in a rockfall!”

“I don’t-”

“ _Good fucking golly_ I _know_ you don’t understand! How do I even _begin_ to explain this-”

Jake looked at him, and when the sun caught his face and set it glowing, for a moment Dirk could _see_ that under all his strange words and odd kindness this man _was_ a King, and the light that shone around his head had come to give him his crown.

“David Strider didn’t die threatening the throne,” Jake said, with all the severity Dirk had thought he didn’t have within him. “He died because it was _his,_ and the black witch came to _take it._ ”

The words took a moment to filter through Dirk’s thoughts, but when they struck it was harder than a kick to his gut, disbelief stinging as much as realisation.

_It was his._

His brother had died trying to kill the rightful Empress, he knew the story, he’d been told it a thousand times, _just like he’d been told of the mad King of Prospit and the blood in his halls and all the reasons to fear him._

_That taint in your blood._

Traitor’s blood, bad blood, soured by a rebellion, _the last loose thread of a successful coup._

“That- But I-” No, no- “That can’t be-”

“What better hand to kill the King under the sun that the Prince who was forgotten by the moon!” Jake spread his arms, smiling mirthlessly. “Welcome to Prospit, _your Highness,_ the land where everyone who doesn’t want you dead isn’t going to believe you’re alive.”

Dirk found the wall behind him, and leaned heavily against it, wishing he could see a sign of a lie in Jake’s face. Nothing came to save him; he did not wake from the dream as it reshaped into a nightmare.

“I trusted her,” Dirk said, and the words tasted like ash in his mouth.

Jake turned away, his shoulders tight, and all the sun left of him as the breeze caught the curtains was a silhouette, stark and dark against the light.

“They all did,” he murmured finally, “and that’s why they’re all gone, and she remains.”

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Welp I hope you like your fantasy political intruigue forbidden love slow burn secret relationship fics because Guess What You're Getting.
> 
> Comments always welcome and I'll do my best to reply to them all! <3


	2. Son of the Sky

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Deep in the dark is a man with light in his eyes, and Dirk isn't ready to face him, or anything else in this place.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for all the lovely comments, tags and kudos! It means a lot to me that people like this fic, it's the first time I've gone all out world-building and I hope you enjoy the ride :)

 

Jane returned before Dirk had had enough time to vanish completely into his own thoughts, slamming the door open and flinching as she hurried to get it closed again behind her. She brought no man beside her, but there was fabric bundled between her arm and chest, and a laboured edge to each breath that showed wherever she had claimed it from was likely not close or easy to reach.

“He said to join him down there.” Jane gave them both glances that were nervous in entirely different ways, then gathered her dress up and stepped quickly around the bed to offer her gift out to Dirk with an insistent shove. “You need to change.”

He curled his lip at the orange and yellow he could see, trying to push it back at her. “I’m not wearing-”

“You look like a Dersite propaganda poster that was designed by a _particularly_ uncreative sort,” she answered before he could finish the refusal, puffing her cheeks up at him and giving him a long glare. “I’m afraid you’re in a place that knows more than three colours exists, so if you want to fit in you’ll have to leave your trichromatic idiocy behind you. There are guards still searching the building and if they catch a gander of even a _hint_ of purple, black and silver in the same spot they’re going to come charging in and stick a sword straight through it.”

“She’s right,” Jake agreed without turning away from the window he’d ended up lingering by, peering out between the curtains with a troubled frown. “You can’t be noticed. I have no doubt there are spies in the palace, and as it stands, we can use that to our advantage; if anyone recognises you, we lose that chance, and the next attempt on your life will probably be more proactive.”

Dirk grimaced, but he snatched the fabric, starting to spread the clothes on the bed. “What _advantage_ are you expecting to gain?”

“Once the search is done, I’ll quietly announce to the guards that John captured a Dersite assassin and is dealing with him, but that the bugger’s been stripped of his mind. I’ll tell them it’s not to become public until we know more, don’t want to fluff any feathers without all the facts to smooth them back down.” Jake sighed. “Then whichever of them is intent on betraying me can scamper back to your Empress and tell her exactly what she wants to hear, and our actions today, going to see him now in such quiet circumstances, will only corroborate the lie. Not to mention, people will see you with us in sunset shades and assume you’re one of _his_ so that’ll only make it more of a certainty.”

“And they wouldn’t question why this man single handedly dealt with me and is now being left to deal with what’s probably an act of war alone?”

“No,” Jane supplied, nudging Dirk back to focus on changing. “They know better than to dare.”

Questions would have to wait, then, given the way they both fell silent and expectant and left him to look over his disguise with mild disgust. He had thought, rather foolishly, that their current state of dress meant the rumours of the lavish clothes worn in Prospit were another exaggeration. Of course now it dawned on him that their clothes were those worn in bed, and plain because of it, and that what lay before him was the atrocious reality that for once had, apparently, been entirely the truth.

“I can’t wear this,” he muttered, picking up the tunic- more the length of a dress- by its shoulders and examining the floating cloud of silk that hung over its shoulders like a billowing cloak tangled up under itself. “This is… This is a joke, right?”

“No,” Jane answered sweetly, reaching to lift the bizarre hood just so he wouldn’t miss it, a tight-fitting fabric mask with a swathe cut out so half of his face would show, and a helpful cut-out for his other eye central to a brilliant white sun dyed into the orange. “ _This_ is the most protective outfit we can give you. Trust me, _no one_ is going to try and get close to you when you’re all dolled up like one of John’s boys.”

“Because I’ll look hideous?”

“Because they’ll be terrified of you.” Jane smiled. “Now _put it on_ before I slap you silly and do it myself.”

Saying it was _tight_ was doing a disservice to how entire the fabric clung to him, the loose jacket and shirt he had shed sorely missed not a moment after they were abandoned on the bed. In Derse, clothes were made of neat lines, sharp edges, as unforgiving as the people who wore them but just as easy to settle into once you knew the way; the clothes that Dirk was awkwardly forcing onto himself here shaped to him, left nothing of his torso to the imagination but where the pointless cloak covered when his arms were flat to his sides to stop it riding upwards- which, even then, was barely to his stomach, and then _that_ was just outright brazenly displayed through a circle cut out of the fabric- and the part of his face replaced by the sign of the sun.

At least the tunic hung loose around his legs and let him keep some dignity, even though he realised swiftly the second half of the outfit he was hoping for was simply absent, the only things remaining on the bed being ludicrously long-strapped sandals, and-

“ _I’m not covering my hands,_ ” he gasped, fingers recoiling from the long gloves that were draped mockingly across the blankets. They would reach easily to beyond his elbow, and had no spaces in them but the eyelets for the ribbon that tightened them shut. _No._ He would abandon most of his limits, but _this…_ He shook his head, grabbing the sandals instead and sitting to begin the arduous task of wrapping each of his calves in linen, ignoring the expression on Jane’s face as she looked first at the gloves, and then to him.

“...Hm.” She said at last.

He managed to finish binding his sandals and tying the straps before she carefully took the gloves and held them, quietly, clearly asking the question without asking it. Dirk did his best to ignore her, to accept there was a cultural divide but that he was absolutely content not facing up to it as long as he could stay on the right side of the line, but when Jane cleared her throat pointedly he felt his eyes twitch in response.

“It’s just not done,” he explained flatly. “You don’t cover them. End of story.”

“Maybe in _Derse_ , but in Prospit you’ll stand out a mile away if you don’t swallow your pride and put the damn gloves on.” They were wiggled at him, flopping around over her hands. “It’s nothing that drastic, good grief! What’s wrong with them?”

The answer sat unpleasant in his stomach as he recalled it being repeated over and over by Rose, her pale fingers curled tightly around the edges of the book she held like a shield. How could they not _know?_ How could they not live the same, and guard themselves against all that the simple act laid bare?

“You can’t see scarred palms through gloves.”

Jane’s disbelieving expression evaporated instantly into shock before she contained it, drew it thin into a flat stare. He didn’t miss her knuckles turning white, however, or the look she barely stopped from shooting at Jake.

“We don’t consort with Demons, Dirk,” she said shortly. “Do you want me to show you my hands so you can check? And unless you think anyone will make the assumption about _you,_ you have nothing to lose from wearing them.”

After a long moment that drew tense enough to nearly snap, Dirk took them from her, staring down at them and reminding himself it was a matter of survival, now. That he didn’t have the choice, whatever he wished for. Jane turned and gathered his old clothes and boots, moving to a locked chest and carefully undoing it to hide them all inside it, before she paused, fingers drawing back in a short flinch and her eyes casting up towards the unseen sky.

“...Gloves are common, in Prospit,” she said, slow and careful. “Questioning them is going to draw attention to you.”

“Ah,” Dirk muttered, pulling the gloves on in jerky motions, skin prickling as the fabric dragged across it. “So the blood-letters can get away with whatever they-”

“That’s _enough._ ”

It was Jake that had spoken, voice sharp, and Dirk blinked in surprise before dropping his head, finishing smoothing out the soft cotton that now covered his arm up to near enough his shoulder. He was horribly aware of it, a constant presence over skin he hadn’t known would be so sensitive to the intrusion, and with each flex of his fingers he felt the way it all moved in response, the way when he clenched his fist he could feel the tense against his knuckles urging him to let his hand fall open and loose.

He hated it. He hated all it, the fabric that was against half his mouth to trap his words when he spoke, the pressure around his left eye that reminded him he gazed through what the sun let him see, the crush of his hair to his head beneath the hood that reminded him of the wrappings the dead wore when they were lowered into the sea. He hated the sandals that were wound too high and felt like chains; the fact that the outfit was too covering, and not covering enough, and somehow both _together._ The fact it was blazing all the colours of the sun, and no matter what revelations still crashed violent in his mind, it felt like a betrayal of something he wanted to believe in. Derse had been his home all his life, and _this,_ this sunlight stain in golden halls, had been the monster beating on the door. He had only imagined himself wearing its skin when he cut the hide from it himself, and draped it over his shoulders bloody and raw.

“John’s waiting,” Jane reminded them in a softer voice, closing the chest and locking it again with a mechanical click that drew Dirk back to the present.

She took out a cloak that looked like spun spider-web speckled with dew, gathering it around her shoulders and easing on matching gloves that neatly stopped at the crease of her elbow, and Dirk supposed to Prospitan eyes it was enough to excuse her still being in her nightgown. To Jake, she offered another pair of gloves, plain and leather and short. Her King gave them a long stare that Dirk began to convince himself was _discomfort,_ but he took them all the same, pulling them on and belting them tight around his wrists.

“You’ll have to stay close, look like you’re leading us,” Jake glanced up at Dirk, meeting his gaze until Dirk looked away the moment that green began to look too gentle, too easy to relax into. “We’ll tell you where to turn, but make a show of it and hop along like you know what you’re doing, chin up and eyes front. We’ll make sure enough people see us go to start the usual rumours, and then my announcement later has the legitimacy it needs for a certain witch to buy it.”

“And if I don’t keep up the act?”

“Then you die,” Jake smiled at him, clasping his hands with a muffled clap that faded into the leather. “So be a good sport and let’s get on with it, shall we?”

Of course. Just a prisoner in fancy clothes, threatened with smiles and a choice that had only one answer.

Dirk bowed in all his golden chains, and turned to lead the way.

 

 

He didn’t see as much of the halls as he would have liked to, led through corridors that did not pass any of the grand rooms he sometimes caught sight of through wall-height windows, or in the fleeting catch of an image when a door opened close by and more garishly dressed Prospitans hurried past with heads ducked to hide their nervous glances. Their outfits were just as ridiculous as his, though with bared faces and ever more grandiose cloaks, and the _insane_ privilege of actually being allowed to wear _pants_ instead of the travesty he’d been given.

In fact, through all the time they were walking he only saw one other dressed as he was, but that small sight was enough for him to understand why he was being given such a wide berth by servants and courtiers and guards alike, despite how close behind him the King walked, and how they had to pause in their escape to bow to Jake as quickly as they dared in an awkward juggling act of respect and terror.

Whatever he was dressed as, he was not sure that it was human. The creature that stared at him from a matching half-sun hood had eyes that burned with a more horrid light than the glow he’d seen in Jane’s, and when he hitched in step a beat too long, its lip curled over sharp teeth that were not so plain as the rest of its face, or at least what he could make out through the fabric and shadow.

Dirk kept walking, _fast_ , and fixed his gaze ahead with more urgency, hoping none were brave enough to look upon his eyes and see them dull and empty.

Jane had told him people would be afraid, and he had been fool enough not to believe it. _One of John’s boys,_ Jake had called him, and Dirk felt his gut drop out at the thought that he was marching towards meeting the _John_ these creatures belonged to.

The march took them down, deeper and down, until guards became nonexistent and the marble floors turned to older stone, worn down through use over hundreds of years, Dirk would wager, going by the look of when these halls had been carved. The magical glow he had only just acclimatised to no longer shone from recessed, polished stones; here there were candles, and the smell of must, and a different kind of power that made his fingers fidget agitatedly in their cloth confines.

Despite it all, as they grew close to thick doors that were open at the end of the longest set of winding stairs the air that rushed out to meet them tasted fresh and clear, as though somehow at the end of all this ancient ruin was a meadow waiting beneath a summer sky. 

“Wait,” Jake murmured, catching Dirk’s shoulder to halt his descent. He slipped past, looking back up at Dirk and Jane and giving a small laugh. “Let me make sure it’s- That it’s actually safe, no point dragging you all the way down here just to end up…”

He didn’t finish the thought, turning and slipping out of sight instead, casting a long shadow against the door for an instant before it moved out of sight, and all went quiet but for their own breaths and uncomfortable fidgets. Dirk turned enough to look at Jane, and saw that she had gone pale since the last time he’d caught a glimpse of her, far above in halls that still held light instead of shadow. She caught the half of his expression that showed and swallowed, forcing up a smile that wasn’t so bright without the sun to warm it.

“He isn’t so bad, not really. He’s… You just have to get to know him, that’s all.” She paused, laying a hand on her own chest and letting out a long sigh. “Maybe if you were someone different, or if you’re lying- But Jake thinks you’re telling the truth, doesn’t he? I think that’s enough for me to believe you too.”

“You know in Derse they tell us your King is mad,” Dirk answered, feeling like she’d admitted something that deserved a reply, even if he couldn’t place quite what is was. “That the golden halls all flow with blood when he’s angry, and that everyone here is… afraid. I think she made those stories, so we’d think she was better, think she was a lesser evil and allow her to fester.”

Jane’s eye clouded, and she looked away, laughing emptily and then listening to the echo of it to fade.

“No,” she said, once it was quiet. “I know where those stories came from.”

Her tone was enough to say she was done talking, and Dirk turned away, closing his eyes and steadying himself. This- was _not_ how anything was meant to have gone, was how any aspect of his life should have taken him. He had never expected to be backed into a corner by the Empress after so long being left to exist without much notice beyond her apparent enjoyment of making his life difficult in smaller ways; he had _never_ expected to stand in Prospit with a knife in his hand and the King’s death his intent, and even less that his same enemy would tell him something impossible, and seem prepared to manipulate far too many people in order to keep him alive.

Still, this was the reality he was faced with, and whether or not it was a dream or as he lived and breathed it, he had no choice but to face it, and follow the course whatever wild riverbed it was surging down and dragging him along with it.

He opened his eyes, resigned to what was before him, and found instead of an empty door there was a _thing,_ red eyes glowing in the shadows from beneath the sign of the half-sun.

“You’re Strider?” It said slowly in the voice of a man, and Dirk realised he hadn’t expected them to be able to speak at all. He nodded, and it looked him up and down, drawing its dark lips close together before it gave the barest shake of its head, black curls swaying where the hood couldn’t hold them and skin looking like ash where it wasn’t turned amber by the candle-light. “The other one was taller, and he spoke more.”

With that, it turned and beckoned them, and then strode back out of sight. Dirk hesitated, the words conjuring a memory that had grown hazy over time, but before it could sharpen Jane was nudging gently at his back, and he was walking forward and through the doorway to whatever the creature was guiding them to beyond.

The air stayed sweet and easy to breathe beyond the door, but instead of something open to the sky Dirk found himself in a cavern that was so vast it vanished out of sight , the outcrop they were on dropping off closer by into darkness broken by swirling curls of mist. There was a sound, on the edge of hearing, alien and unsettling like the murmur of a great beast somewhere far in the dark, and other than that the only noise was the soft snapping back and forth of what was clearly an argument, that led Dirk’s gaze across a cluttered set of shelves and a desk all sitting brazen on the edge of the void, and beyond it to Jake, standing just as close to the edge with his hands on his hips as he glared up at the man currently pacing back and forth in front of him.

“He didn’t tell me to expect anyone,” the man Dirk presumed was John was saying agitatedly, dragging his hands back through his dark hair. Unlike the others Dirk had seen, he was dressed plainly, a white tunic belted loosely over dark leather pants and matching gloves done most of the way up his thick forearms. “He _always_ tells me when to expect people, why wouldn’t he mention- Unless he doesn’t know? But if he doesn’t _know_ then what am I meant to- And how do you even know for sure it’s even the _truth,_ anyone could lie, anyone could say they were-”

“John,” their unnatural guide snapped, and it gained his attention instantly, his hands dropping and his body straightening up, the lines in his face betraying his age now they weren’t hidden from view. “Why don’t you just shut up and look for yourself?”

Dirk felt something sharp and almost painful in the back of his head when John took the invitation, their eyes meeting and the frustration in John’s features going slack. He was older than Jake, maybe even older than Rose, dark hair white at his temples and old scars pale and shining on his neck and cheek. It was a face that would catch in memory, defined and lined heaviest around his eyes and mouth where laughter had left its mark, and just for a second Dirk thought he knew what that laugh would sound like, thought he knew what the fact looked like smiling, when all John’s hair was dark and he’d seemed a giant, stooping down with a name on his tongue that still hurt, even unsaid. 

John blinked, and the memory was broken as Dirk looked at him _now_ , at all the years that had cracked his smile in two and left his eyes with a constant light behind them that was something more powerful than mirth.

“She tried to hurt him?” John didn’t look away, and his voice was quiet, far too quiet, the sort of softness that sounded like the edge of a sword.

“Yes,” Jake replied, then hastily added, “so he _is_ telling the truth?”

John’s hands tightened into fists at his sides, the mist around him catching on an unseen current and whipping around his feet as his mouth curled into a smile that didn’t reach his eyes and made Dirk’s chest go cold just as it had started to thaw, worse even that the way he had spoken.

“I’m going to kill her.” He stepped forward, then turned sharply, storming back towards the edge and throwing his hands out in a motion that drew a great dart of vapour from the air and made it shine blue as it twisted violently between his moving hands. It rose up above them, the glow lighting the cavern all the way to its jagged roof, before it compressed into a single point of light, a blinding firefly that fled into the darkness with an unknown purpose that carved a valley in the mist behind it and left the clouds rolling back together like waves on a stormy sea. “ _I’m going to kill her._ ”

“John-” Jake caught his arm and John threw him off, just enough to make him stagger. “Calm _down,_ Signless be damned you’re going to hurt yourself!”

“You’re going to scare your guest,” the half-sun added, abruptly beside John and seizing his wrist despite Dirk’s certainty he hadn’t seen him move. John snarled down at him, but it was clear he couldn’t break the grip, despite how he strained against it. “ _John._ I can _make_ you calm down if you won’t just _breathe,_ you insufferable sack of shit. You aren’t a child, and no matter how crazy deciding to live in this hellhole has made you, you’re _better than this._ ”

Dirk could see the struggle continue for one more push, before John’s braced muscles grew loose, his shoulders falling and his head following after them while his fists fell to open fingers. He nodded, silently. Jake quickly turned to Jane.

“Go tell the guards to call off the search, then make sure everything is ready for me to talk to them. We’ll be alright down here, don’t worry about us, and I know you’ll do it all without fault.” He smiled hopefully, and though it wasn’t aimed at Dirk, Dirk couldn’t help but be caught in the small comfort it gave in such a strange place among already strange places. “I’ll be up quick as can be, you’ll see. Don’t you waste a minute fretting, alright?”

“...Alright.” Jane didn’t sound entirely sure, but Dirk felt her leave anyway, and found he hadn’t realised how comforting a human presence at his back was until it was gone.

Still-

He reached up and took the hood, pulling it down entirely and shaking his hair free before he met the blue eyes that were once more focused on his face.

“You knew Dave.” It was stilted, and uncertain, but he managed to force each word out in turn. Memories of his brother were fleeting at best, a lifetime ago and all the more faded for what lies had been spread above them. Once, he sat in Rose’s library and felt his eyes sting at the thought of a man whose face he couldn’t recall reading him a story by the same fireplace he’d found to settle beside. Another time he caught a smell on the breeze and spent half an hour picking through all the stalls in an open market to chase it back to a crate of apples and walk away wondering why it hurt his chest. 

Now, there was a face before him he could remember clearer than his brother’s, and that burned his heart in a way no other ghost had managed.

“Yeah.” John rubbed his wrist as his boy let go of it, the light in his eyes dimming but not going out entirely. “We- We were friends.”

So many questions began to spark up in Dirk’s mind one after the other that he struggled to pick any out of the mess, a wave of _what was he like, what happened to him, what did he think of me, what did he do, what did he think, what did he say-_

“...You look just like him,” John murmured instead, and all at once all the questions were gone.

For that instant, Dirk knew he was Dave in the eyes looking back at him, knew that somehow despite everything they were both there together, a ghost and his legacy, and that it was the first time in two decades he felt like he had anything left to reach back through time and connect them, grasping for one last thing that might give him some of his brother back. He stood and found no words to say, nothing but a pain that started in his nose and spread out to his eyes, his fingers curling as he stood and waited despite not knowing what it was he was waiting for.

Approval, maybe. Someone telling him that he was what they’d expected him to be, that he was what Dave had expected-

He closed his eyes.

“She told me he was a traitor,” he managed, now the gaze was gone and the pain could urge him to speak. “They- They told me he was _King._ ”

“He was. Never _wanted_ to be, hah, hated every moment of it, but…” John fell quiet. “He was a good one, even if he thought he wasn’t. Easy to make fun of and get flustered! Especially when he was trying to be official, he was… wow, he was _so bad_ at _that_ , but he tried. He tried. And he did better than anyone else might’ve.”

It occurred to Dirk, somewhat surreally, that this was the second time he’d heard Dave spoken of without any disgust. The thought followed quickly that both of those times had been today, and from the mouth of those he would’ve gladly killed this very morning.

“He didn’t want that for you.”

Dirk looked back, and saw John’s face had grown sad, shadows falling over it and only making him look all the more old, and lonely, down in his dark cave with the wind to keep him company. “He didn’t want that,” John repeated, just as soft, before he came back to life, brightening up as he was wound back up and given the energy to move. He hurried to the desk, moving papers and notes aside and shifting a white globe that weighed down a particularly thick stack of them, though the wind seemed to have helpfully died rather than disturbing his search. “But- none of them told me you’d be here, not even him, I don’t understand…”

“We make mistakes, John,” the half-sun grumbled beside him, once more simply _there_ without stepping. “I’ve explained to you before, there’s a difference between _powerful_ and _good at guessing_ and _omniscient,_ and no matter what you get shoved down your throat to the contrary, they’re _only working on guesses,_ and passing it off like the sun shines out of their asses and all the knowledge in the world sparkles in their creepy messed up eyes.”

“You really think they wouldn’t have guessed..?”

“That the Empress of Derse would hand over the heir practically tied up in an obnoxious purple bow? No, John. No, why in my own name would I have _ever thought that?_ ”

“Then what am I meant to do, Karkat? I can’t _advise_ without any idea of what’s going to work out, I can just… waves my hands and pick randomly and hope it works out!”

“What, you mean like _everyone else?_ Flaming shit, that sounds terrible. How could anyone ever possibly cope with that?” Karkat raised his hand and smacked the back of John’s head, growling in a way that didn’t match his human voice. “Oh, that’s right! They just fucking _do._ We aren’t your be all and end all, we’re meant to _help_ you, even if the price is steep, but shock of the millenia, John! _Helping_ means you still have to _figure some of it out yourself._ ”

A steep price? Dirk stepped back, glancing at John’s gloves and replaying Jane’s words, Jane’s _worries,_ as he wondered if he already knew what the creatures were who spoke in human tongues and hid their faces beneath the sign of the sun.

“Then help me,” John murmured, and Dirk watched as Karkat’s red eyes left lingering trails in the air as he turned to judge their company, before he lifted his hands and pulled down his own hood, shaking his curls and exposing the voids in them where he’d ground down his ember-glow horns, almost flat to his ashen skin that caught the candle-light colour because it had none of its own.

The Demon grimaced, showing his sharp teeth. Despite every inch of Dirk begging him to run, he found that he couldn’t move, transfixed by the beast he was dressed to pass as and the words that fell fast and fluid from his mouth.

“English already has a plan that’s perfectly serviceable to keep the black queen off your asses, but she’s waiting for a sign that won’t come and eventually she’s going to get wise. You don’t have long to figure out what to do, and let’s be honest, your options are limited.” Karkat raised his hand, starting to count off along his fingers. “One, you give Strider back, she probably gets all pally with you, eventually takes over underhandedly because she respects you enough to stab you in the back herself rather than leaving someone else to do it. Two, you keep Strider here and that’s that, and eventually she declares the war she was aiming for once whatever she’s plotting to give her an advantage comes into play, and cuts your heads off from the front, instead. Three, you declare war on _her,_ and pray you’re going to win and that somehow the fact you have this asshole on your side means Derse will rally around you, or something else just as poetic, and vapid. Four, you don’t make a plan _ten fucking minutes_ after getting a new player on the board, _chill your golden rack_ and understand you can’t always know the answer to everything, and that the man standing five feet to our right who is listening to all of this with the slack jawed expression of the recently stunned is in fact, and I know this is _incredible,_ capable of being an _active part_ of the planning process when it comes to things that will affect his _being alive_ status, and who you should maybe get to know the skills and thoughts of before you shove him onto a board he doesn’t have a clue about and expect him not to get a sword through his chest like the _last_ asshole who tried that!”

Karkat stopped, and spluttered, and wheezed.

“And _maybe,_ ” he continued, just when Dirk was sure he couldn’t have anything left to say, “the Royal Highness you’d repeat all this to if he wasn’t _also five feet away from me_ could find a better disguise for the currently _not_ so Royal Highness because dressing him like a Damned will work _fine_ on humans but I give it a _day_ before one of the _various_ crazy _assholes_ you let wander around- and yes, John, I am including myself in that, I am _not_ meant to be on this plane permanently and I have no idea why you think it’s a good idea given what it takes to keep me here- are going to _tear him limb from limb_ because they take it as some warped kind of _insult._ ”

The silence was deafening once the last echoes faded, and John slumped back against the desk, looking down at the uneven ground as Karkat reached out and touched his shoulder far gentler that any of their contact so far.

“I know what you’re trying to do, John, and I know what you’re trying to prove, but you can’t fix what’s sealed in stone and throwing a kid under the carriage isn’t going to help anyone.” John glanced at him, and Karkat sighed out a small burst of smoke and cinders. “You asked me to bring him back once, and I couldn’t, I told you that just as open as I’m saying it now. Whatever’s going on here, whatever your eyes are telling you, Dave Strider is dead and you need to put him in the ground and focus on the present before you end up laying straight down in the same grave.”

“You know why it’s hard to let go,” John replied, and Karkat sighed again, a softer glow that didn’t make it past his lips.

“It’s always hard to give up the past when it won’t stop haunting you, but you _know_ how that story ended.” His hand dropped away as he stepped back and tugged his hood up, covering his face with fabric and shadow. “You want me to give you advice, John? Fine. My advice is to let him go.”

Karkat stepped back, and it took Dirk’s mind a moment to catch up and realise he’d stepped straight into nothing, his body toppling and then simply bursting into mist when he would have fallen out of sight, the clouds stained red for a moment before they settled back into their pallid places. John rubbed his face, then nodded at nothing, turning and lifting a few papers from his table to look through more sedately.

“...He’s right, about the outfit, Jake.” He glanced up, gesturing towards Dirk. “It will have turned heads today in the right way, but I don’t control any of them and you know it, I can’t command them like Lalonde could. They’re just sort of… here, and they’ll play fair, but only as long as they don’t have a reason to be angry.”

“What do you suggest?” Jake replied, finally closing the gap to stand beside Dirk instead of leaving him lingering alone as he fought between fear and curiosity. “He’ll need to be kept close to me- That’s my rule. I won’t have something happen because I wasn’t vigilant over someone I forced to stay here. But he’ll need to avoid drawing attention, or else it’ll be all of a day before some rat goes scurrying home with a description and we’ll lose whatever time we’ve got.”

“Then dress me like a servant,” Dirk answered in the thoughtful silence, unsure how it hadn’t occurred to them as quickly as it had presented itself to him. “Unless there’s a reason people would be particularly interested in your serving staff? The real staff won’t dare question the King choosing a private helper, if they’re _anything_ like the households I’ve dealt with, and who else is even going to care who fills your cup and readies your bed?”

Jake pursed his lips, considering. “...They might ask where I found you.”

“Tell them Jade sent him to you,” John suggested, running his thumb over the paper in his hand. “I can’t think of anyone who wouldn’t believe that she’d send some random boy she found to the palace and expect him to get a fancy role, _and_ that you’d do it, too.”

“That would work. You’d have to act it, of course,” Jake glanced at Dirk. “They’ll take that you’re new but the staff might talk if you don’t go with it and start putting in some elbow grease while you’re somewhere they can see. They’re proud of their standards, proud enough to talk, and once the flow starts all it takes it one diversion and it’s home free all the way to Derse.”

“And if you try to leave, the Ward will get you.” John dropped everything back onto the desk and stood, facing Dirk with a weariness to the smile he managed. “Jane said you broke the safety line Jake had on him, which means the wards it connects to are triggered! Together they edge the palace, and another circle surrounds the city too, and anyone who tries to pass them who wasn’t here when they were established isn’t… well, you don’t want to know what happens, but there probably wouldn’t be enough of you left to bury. The lines- like trip-wires that set off alarms for the guards- they’ll be off by now if Jane’s said to stop the search, but the ward can’t be brought down without a _lot_ of power, and Jane said it’s staying up for quite a while! So.” He spread his hands. “You’re kind of stuck, whatever you do, and we want to help you, but we can’t do that if you’re missing, or, you know. Dead.”

“How delightful,” Dirk said flatly. A question rose before he could escape the thought, and he cocked his head as he hummed. “Why isn’t that just… on? All the time? I mean, I got right into your bedroom, man. That’s… not great, in terms of security.”

“There was more security there than you saw, or managed to trigger,” Jake assured him. “You’re damn lucky you didn’t actually stab me.”

“I thought you were all up and willing to make that heroic sacrifice.”

“Hah, yes, well, I probably did make it look that way, but I wasn’t the one who’d be dead.” He watched Jake shift awkwardly from foot to foot, worry fluttering around in his stomach. What did he..? “You’re dealing with magic here, chum. Any blade that goes into me drives straight into the body of the person who’s holding it.”

_What._

Dirk’s eyebrows rose slowly, and he turned to look at him fully, confusion giving way to a crushing realisation that stamped on what shallow trust he’d almost been willing to grant.

“...You were going to get me to kill myself,” he said slowly, and Jake’s gaze dropped to avoid his eyes. “I thought you were being _noble,_ but you were- you were going to kill me.”

“Only if you’d tried to kill me first,” Jake reminded him hurriedly, “and you were better than that, remember?”

It was shock, first, then upset, then _anger,_ and finally Dirk shoved Jake away from him, grasping at his own hair and letting everything he’d barely held back come crashing in around him. A palace of liars and _Demons_ and magic that was _everywhere,_ a man who his brother had called _friend_ who had palms scarred deep and something unstable lurking in his eyes, a King who would’ve killed him when he thought he was trying to be brave, and a home that had turned on him and left him to die here in this place of madness and gold and ghosts echoing in the walls.

He didn’t _want this._

For the second time in as many hours he felt like he understood nothing, his mind groaning under the pressure of all the weight that rested upon it. A King who didn’t want to be King and an heir who’d never known, a Demon who roared in the ears of a nation and a man with eyes soft like the summer who caught Dirk’s shoulders and held them tight.

“Hey, lad. Breathe, come on, slow down and count them, I know you can.” Jake squeezed, ducking his head to find Dirk’s gaze and hold it. “I know this is a lot, and I’m sorry, I wish things were different and it didn’t have to be this way, but this is how it _is_ and we’re a darn sight more screwed if you don’t take it in and get on with helping me sort out this mess.”

He grasped at Jake’s wrists and held them because they were all that felt real, an anchor to a reality he was sure was turning to water around him and leaving him to drown. He fixed on the green but for once it wasn’t what held him, and all he saw was Jake’s whole face around it, the earnest worry in his features that after everything Dirk still couldn’t believe was a lie.

One person in all the world actually gave a shit what happened to him, and it would have been so much easier to hate them like he always had before.

“I don’t think I can do this alone this time,” Jake was saying, and his voice sounded far away even when the lips shaping the words looked so clear. “I’m sorry you’re the one who’s got lumbered with this piece of crap fate, I really do understand how it feels to have life give you the leftover destiny no one else wanted when you’d rather have the one that was taken away, but- but you’re the one who’s here, who has it, who’s in the saddle on that wild horse and finding out you’re chained up to it. We’ve got to make the most of it, both of us, of our poor rolls, because too many people are dead in this stupid game already and I’ll be damned if I let anyone else die without that witch paying for _everything_ she’s done.”

Dirk held onto Jake tightly, to the words that were bursting the bubbles drowning out everything but his pulse. He thought of the Empress smiling at him and talking of _debt_ and _worth,_ thought of her telling him of all the things his brother had done to _deserve_ his ending and Dirk’s legacy of punishment,and he knew then that he would do anything to see her dead on the ground with his brother’s name the last thing she’d ever known.

“We make her pay,” he murmured, voice short as he struggled to right his rapid breaths.

“We do,” Jake promised, “but only _together,_ this is your fight as much as mine and I’m not about to pull your punch so I can get one in out of spite. I know this isn’t what you thought you were walking into, but you weren’t meant to survive today, not in any state to do anything. She thought I’d kill you, because she doesn’t know me, she doesn’t know as much as she thinks- But you’re alive. You’re alive and here and gosh _darn_ I’ll take a lucky break and think some god or other sent you here so we can do what should’ve been done a long time ago and give her the what for she’s been begging for ever since she killed Grandma and your brother and all the others who she tricked into letting her in.”

It took time to control his breathing again, his chest aching even as it slowed, a cold sweat on his forehead and down his neck as his body complained like he’d run all the way back up the stairs. Jake was still holding him, as his head ducked and he panted openly to get back some air in his lungs, and he was still holding Jake, clinging to the steadying presence that had taken a gamble on him being a good man that he’d somehow, impossibly, won.

“Tell me what to do,” Dirk said, voice still hoarse and head still spinning. “If I’m going to let anyone lead me to death, it might as well by the better of the you.”

“I need you to trust me.” Jake was looking at him imploringly, and Dirk couldn’t help a raspy laugh.

“You’re all I’ve got left,” he told him, and it hurt that it wasn’t a lie.

 

 


	3. Tenfold Eyes That Blindly Seek

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dirk's in over his head and nothing is as he thought it was. Answers lead to questions, and truths lead to conflicts in his convictions.
> 
> He'd do anything to defeat the Empress... wouldn't he?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I make no apologies for my ongoing clothing fixation.

 

“Put this on,” Karkat’s voice said before he’d finished stepping out of the mist, red staining the clouds that pooled together to form back into his shape. He didn’t bother approaching, throwing Dirk the clothes that still left wispy trails of golden mist as they tumbled towards him, cold to the touch even through gloves when Dirk caught them out of the air.

Oh good. Another bundle that was far too thin, far too frail, cloth shimmering over his fingers as he curled his lip at it and grounded himself in his distaste. Whatever he had to do to earn the right to enough fabric to actually _cover himself,_ he would gladly do it, if only so he could finally feel more like his purpose here was what Jake spoke of, instead of ending up bared fully in a bed. He’d been many things in Derse, but none of them had to follow him here where all those around him knew was a name and a ghost; the Empress’ punishments were distant, but for the one that smiled at him hopefully with light drifting through the sunken forest in his eyes.

“This is how your servants dress?” Dirk asked with measured distaste, and Jake sighed, smile faltering.

“...I know Derse must be different but you have to understand, you aren’t _there_ now and if you want to look even a smidge like you belong here, you’re going to have to dress it and act it and do what you can to bite the strap in your mouth and stomach the sting.” Jake glanced across at where Karkat had hounded John into a huddle beside the desk, their conversation low and sharp. Even with their focus so clearly elsewhere, he still dropped his voice before he spoke again, not quite meeting Dirk’s gaze. “Do you want a hand getting it on?”

The instant desire to laugh at the implication he might need help getting _dressed_ was stomped on rather unpleasantly as Dirk realised he had no idea what order these sparse layers went in, how the laces were tied, what some of these scraps of cloth were even _intended_ for. It wasn’t as if asking for that assistance would have phased him normally- but from the way Jake wouldn’t look at him, he felt it was a shame here, and couldn’t help the sting of that echoing into a burn on his own cheeks.

“Fine,” he muttered, before he could back himself into a corner of indecision. “Is it normal to dress in front of a crowd in Prospit? I seem to be doing in _regularly._ ”

“Oh! Oh, _gosh,_ no, wait-”

Whatever he’d expected Jake to do, or say, the offers of finding somewhere private he’d been hoping for- instead Jake drew his hands up, and Dirk only had a moment between the motion and the suddenly dazzling glow from Jake’s eyes to realise what was happening before the ground beside him shuddered and snapped upwards, spraying dust and shattered rock around his feet and making him flinch away from the new wall that trembled before it fell still, looking as old and belonging as the stone it had torn away from. He took a full step back as his chest tightened, the ether sting in his nose reminding him of an all too recent suffering; but Jake’s eyes grew dim, and the taste in the air went with them.

“Better?”

Dirk tore his gaze from the unnatural rock, forcing himself to release his painfully tight grip on the clothes as he looked at Jake and swallowed the lump in his throat. He’d already been healed, met a Demon, seen John summon lights and wind; yet something about Jake showing that power unsettled him, twisted unpleasant below his skin.

_You have to trust me._

He dropped his gaze when Jake’s face fell.

“Ah. I… Sorry.” Jake awkwardly shuffled his feet, sounding somehow every bit as uncomfortable as Dirk felt. “It’s… You’ll have to get used to that, too. Most people don’t think, _I_ don’t think, before…”

“Is it like asking the rock to move?” Curiosity would bury fear, Dirk decided, throwing his new clothes down and starting to strip so he didn’t have to feel his hands shake any longer, starting with the infernal gloves he knew he’d only have to replace. “Or like pulling on strings?”

“It’s different for everyone. I don’t really ask anything.” Jake stooped and picked up the pile of cloth, dusting it clean as best he could. “I… I trust it will happen, and it does. I suppose I _am_ asking, but it’s more just that I have faith the world will understand what I need and do it, and mostly it does. Sometimes it won’t, but, well, usually those are the times I already _know_ it won’t.” He paused, rubbing his thumbs over deep red satin that was jumbled amongst the orange. “Maybe that’s me letting the world down, not the other way around.”

“If the entire world is resting on one set of shoulders, it’s going to fall down sometimes.” Dirk dropped the tunic he’d worn, reaching to start on the ridiculous sandals. “Maybe it should cut you a break now and then.”

He tensed when leather caught his bare hand, Jake’s fingers curling around his palm to still it. All he could think to do at first was grip back. For seconds that seemed to drag on far longer than they were welcome, they stayed frozen, crouched with Jake’s palm against the back of his hand, fingers trapped by the curl of Dirk’s own, and then Dirk looked up to find Jake staring at him with eyes wide like a deer before a hunter, and tried to ignore the stab of disappointment when he released Jake’s fingers only for Jake to urgently pull them back away.

“...You.” Jake stopped, grasped his own hand before he began once more. “You should leave those on. They take forever to do back up.”

It took a lot for Dirk to resist the urge to cover his face. It would hardly have helped the way his ears burned, so he accepted the humiliation the moment left sour on his tongue, dropped his hands to fist by his sides instead and waited for instructions to end the silence that felt far too thick and choking. It came in the form of fresh clothes offered down to him, and he took them without complaint, thankful enough for the distraction that he barely wrinkled his nose as he pulled on the clinging orange shorts over the wrap of the knee-high sandal straps, though he grimaced as he realised the foul things had yet _more_ straps attached to them, which he wound dutifully down to meet the first and leave his whole leg cloaked in what looked like fine bandages. The skirt held no secrets, at least, a brown pennant both sides sliced into three that hung most-ways down his thighs.

Jake ducked before Dirk could react, and with two neat snaps he had fixed gold bands around the join where the shorts and sandals met, the metal gleaming as it shaped snugly to his muscles. Dirk reached instinctively to touch them and didn’t miss the way Jake’s hands drew away as though stung, but lost himself in testing the metal instead, broad enough to cover the unsightly seam but feeling delicate enough he could certainly snap it if he put enough force behind it.

“Why?” He asked after a moment.

“Wouldn’t do for them to come loose and show the wrong skin,” Jake explained with false brightness. “There’s… etiquette, about that. Always wear gloves, cover your face, and as a servant cover your legs.”

“Cover my face,” Dirk repeated, feeling the familiar stir of horror in his gut as he glanced at the cloth and satin now tucked in Jake’s lap. He’d let the first mask pass without complaint, but _again?_ His hands _and_ his face and all his honour left covered and stolen? “I didn’t see your stupid nobles wearing masks.”

“It’s- a matter of status.”

“ _A matter of status._ ” He scoffed. “Your right to your own _face_ is a matter of _status._ Does status also bring more layers with it? People born with a spoon shoved down their throat get a whole wardrobe dumped on their heads, but _I_ get-”

He seized the fabric and stared at the jacket that unfurled, more a back and collar with arm-straps to hold it in place, and a noticeable absence of _front_. 

“ _I don’t even get a full shirt._ ”

“You get, I mean.” Jake visibly floundered. “It’s… It’s just what they _wear._ ”

“And I’m sure whoever decided that was _very_ pleased with themselves. All your pretty servants, bared where it’s _polite,_ but you’d all wear gloves rather than take advantage.” It was hilarious, in a way that reverberated down the fractures in his mind, stretched thinner until it became nothing but an air of ridiculousness that made his thoughts swim. “I can’t tell what’s worse! That you want me to swan around looking like a high-class whore or that you all lock yourselves in gloves and a thousand petticoats and let it go to waste!”

“Dirk-”

“Oh no, no, _don’t._ ” He cut off the coming apology with a bite, gritting his teeth and pulling his arms through the loop that would hold them. “If it never bothered you before, don’t let one complaint change your mind, your _Highness._ It’s just how it’s _done,_ hm? So how did that go down, an old Ruler saw someone fine on a street corner, thought they’d surround themselves with the sight?”

“People don’t- _do_ that, here, they don’t sell themselves like...”

“Hah! Sorry to break it to you but _anywhere_ the rich get lonely someone is doing _that._ ”

Dirk dragged the hood up, reaching for the red slip in Jake’s lap and curling his fingers when Jake grabbed it himself and stood, holding it tight in his fist.

“This isn’t _Derse,_ ” was fired straight back at Dirk, hard-edged and certain. “People here are _better._ ”

“Moon above do you really _believe_ that?” He looked between Jake’s eyes as he stood, but there was nothing but conviction in them, but a sort of hopeful idiocy. “Demons stroll through your city, Assassins would kill themselves by your suggestion, you take the faces of those who don’t _deserve_ them, and you really want to tell me you’re _better_ just because you’re too proud to believe no one out there is on their knees _right now_ sucking the pathetic little dick of one of your nobles because he had enough coin to make it worth their while?”

“You have _no idea_ what it’s like here!”

“And you know _nothing_ about Derse but apparently _you_ can make judgements without cause!”

Hypocrisy was apparently becoming his new favourite hobby, Dirk considered, but he didn’t let it show, even as his words turned back on him and angrily spread their arms at the golden city he’d always thought he understood without ever knowing anything at all. His face held firm, meeting Jake’s incensed stare until Jake looked away, down the the red rag.

“It means they can’t wear armour.”

“What?” Dirk hesitated, tracing hurriedly back through the conversation to find the question Jake was answering, but Jake continued with only a small hitch to breathe.

“The servants baring their chests, the Demons baring their stomachs, the clothes being tight to the skin. It means they can’t wear armour, there’s nowhere left to hide it without magic and the cloth is enchanted to prevent them hiding things that way. There’s always a weak point to hit them, an easy kill strike if they turn on you.” He frowned, raising the red and shaking it at Dirk. “The mouth- You cover the mouth because persuasive magic works better when it isn’t muffled, so the masks stop Demons and servants whispering into the ears of the people they’re meant to protect. And- And it wasn’t _some Ruler._ It was _me._ I made those choices.”

“ _People are better,_ ” Dirk repeated scathingly. Jake bared his teeth.

“ _Yes._ They _are._ None of this was because of _Prospit,_ all of this is because of the _Dersite_ girl who _cut my Grandma’s throat_ when she was helping her _change._ ” His eyes flashed dangerously, the ground shaking again beneath them enough to lift the layer of dust, and Dirk’s anger buckled with fear. “ _Demon_ is the name _you_ gave the spirits we summon, and has it ever occurred to you that the black queen had a vested interest in you all _shunning them?_ And- _And_ _for pity’s fucking sake,_ no one _sells themself on a bloody street corner_ because there’s a fucking _indoor market for that kind of thing._ ”

Silence settled, and this time it was absolute.

“If you want me to keep having to explain every single ruddy thing to you, please, continue to act like everything I do is ass-backward. I’m _very_ familiar with the attitude, and just when I thought I’d outgrown it you’ve come to remind me I’m just as stupid as I ever was.” Jake’s breath was less even, his voice less certain, but his shoulders were tight with forced pride and Dirk couldn’t look away from him, even as his eyes turned dull and mundane. “Maybe I don’t do things like anyone else would, like _you_ would, but sod _that._ I do things how I do them, and- and I haven’t spent this long telling myself that was _alright_ to let _one complaint change my mind._ ”

Dirk caught the mask that was thrown to him, pulling it close to his chest and staring as Jake turned away.

“I’m- I didn’t know-” Dirk started, and all it got him was a laugh. Without another word, Jake walked around the rocky wall and vanished out of sight.

 

 

When he finally regained enough awareness of anything but his own thoughts to move, Dirk found the mask was soft and thin, made to cup his jaw and cover his nose but leaves his eyes and cheeks bare. It took a moment to realise the small jewels that topped it were pins, but after tying it behind his head and snapping them into place around the hood, he settled back into quiet, running his uncovered fingers across the shape of his lips through the fabric.

Everything was leading him around in circles through his own fears and frustrations, but all lashing out had done was leave a crack in the one mooring that might stop him slipping down into a whirlpool, leaving it unsteady when he needed to grasp for it in earnest. If the Empress had really wanted him destroyed, she had made a wise decision when she left him to be the one to do it; he knew the pattern he was about to fall back into, and knew too that he’d be the one to suffer most from all it brought.

If he wanted to survive Prospit, he had to start by surviving himself.

The mask was soft satin and easy to breath through, the clothes were comfortable; he’d bared more of his body before, and for less reason. Once he’d taken the moment to breathe and collect himself, it was easier to find something good to offset the discomfort, to bury his first reactions beneath something more reasonable and calculated. He had to do this. He’d keep telling himself that until he accepted it, or until he snapped and ran back to Derse and the death that was probably waiting there.

No- No. It wasn’t a choice, and he knew it.

Dirk stepped around the stone screen that had been made for him, adjusting the skirt to sit neatly down his front as he waited for any form of approval. It came in the form of Karkat, in front of him in a blink, offering a pair of white gloves in one hand as the other reached to straighten the hood, an invasion of his space that Dirk stomached through gritting his teeth firm enough they started to ache. He took the gloves, and felt a strange relief when he pulled them on and found them only came up to his elbows; more skin bare in the _right_ places, he supposed, but it was still a quiet freedom.

“Your cover is that Jade sent you, so you’re going to get some leeway to be a fuck-up at first.” Karkat scowled with the half of his mouth Dirk could see, dropping his hand. “What Jake tells you to do, you do, but _only_ what Jake tells you. You’re the King’s servant, not some second rate senate asshole’s. Anyone tries to take advantage of you like you don’t know that, you snap their neck or you scream until one of us comes and does it for you.”

“That seems a little severe.”

“A little? It’s _very_ severe, dumbass, just like _every_ punishment for trying to fuck with the King’s things. You eat with him, bathe with him, sleep with him, take any blow that’s aimed at him whether or not it would’ve killed him. As far as anyone here knows or _cares,_ you’re just a nicely dressed piece of meat who is going to do everything and anything the King wants you to, and you’re going to do with a smile under that mask because if you don’t the other servants are going to _know._ ”

“So I’m a slave,” Dirk replied flatly, and Karkat snorted out cinders.

“Sure, a slave who gets to sit next to the King at feasts, who gets to sleep in the royal chambers, who gets his every need catered for as long as it doesn’t displease his Lordship over there.” The Demon glared up at him, puffing up in irritation. “It’s a _job,_ you smug purple prick. People go through _hell_ to get hired here, and most of them are grateful for the chance to live in luxury in return for fanning some overweight bureaucrat.”

“It doesn’t sound like they’re given a choice.”

“Oh ho, oh no, there’s _always_ a choice. You want to go outside in your normal rags and see how far you get, by all means. Hey, in fact, I’m feeling _charitable._ I’ll send you all the way back to Derse if you want me to.” Karkat lifted his fingers, pressing his glowing thumb and forefinger together, a moment from snapping them. Dirk recoiled, the red light every bit as threatening as the snarl in the voice that accompanied it. “ _Give me one good reason, Strider._ We’ll see what the Empress makes of her little survivor.”

Dirk spluttered. “A choice between life and death isn’t a _choice!”_

“ _Of course it is!_ And better men than _you_ have chosen the other path.” Karkat let his fingers fall apart, but no sooner had Dirk breathed than Karkat’s hand was grasping his collar instead, dragging him down to the Demon’s face. “She let you keep his name as a _joke,_ you know that? So her lapdog could ruin everything he stood for.”

His skin went cold, a chill that was from more than the unearthly breeze, a memory just beyond his reach speaking his name in a voice that made it feel like it _meant_ something, like it was more than the amused curl of her lips every time she crooned it with pleasure in the words. _A joke._ Dirk grasped Karkat’s wrist, trying to force him to let go.

“If you want to be even _half_ the man he was, you need to _shut up_ and _grow up_ and prove you deserve the name he gave you and the face you stole.” Karkat stared him down, eyes blazing and heated, before dropping his voice to a low whisper that dragged its nails straight through his ears. “If you want your brother to be proud of you, crying about gloves and getting stabbed in the back isn’t doing yourself any favours.”

Then he was gone, and Dirk was panting into empty air, hand falling heavily through nothing to smack his own chest.

For a moment, all he knew was the ringing in his ears, and then he had pushed it away with the sting in his nose, lifting his head and looking over at John and Jake, stood on the edge of the plateau and engrossed in a talk that hadn’t paused for the whispers of a Demon and the verbal knife he’d driven deep into Dirk’s heart. Inside, he wavered, shattered; outside, his face was serene by the time John lifted up a hand and caught a white bird from the darkness.

It spread its wings as the white wisped away and turned to shadow, and then it fell apart and dripped between his fingers like oil down into the abyss, whatever sign it held or message it brought imparted and its duty done. If magic weren’t still enough to make bile sting in Dirk’s throat, he thought he might find it beautiful.

“Nothing from the Denizen?” Jake asked carefully, and John sighed, tipping his hand to let the rest of the oil roll away.

“He doesn’t know, but I knew this was coming. He was only going to know so far, before…” John shook his head. “The help was finite, but it’s okay! It’s okay, we’ll figure it out. It’s about time we just did things ourselves again, right?”

“I wouldn’t have been too against a little leg up this particular mountain.”

“Oh, come on, Jake. Climbing can be fun!”

“And also very _dangerous._ ”

John turned to look at him, nose screwed up, before reaching and flicking his forehead. “You used to _like_ danger. Where’s your- your sense of _adventure?_ ”

“I wasn’t King then, John.” Jake swatted his hand away, frowning back. “People are relying on me.”

After hesitating, John shrugged, bringing a single spark of light back above his palm and gently blowing it away into the mists. Dirk felt like he was invading something private, though it was hardly like there was anywhere else he could be without taking up Karkat’s invitation to try his luck in the moonlit citadel. He settled for looking down at his feet, curling his toes beneath the fabric wrapped around them.

“That’s why you’re a good King,” John announced at last. “Just remember you’re still allowed to just be _Jake._ ”

“Touching as this is,” Karkat interrupted from close to them, and Dirk glanced up to see him lingering just behind John, red gaze down on his gloves as he carefully straightened each finger in turn. “You have shit to _do_ , and with all due respect, standing around vomiting emotions into the void like you’re both capable of reasonable human responses to anything that happens to you is charming but accomplishing _nothing._ ”

“Right, yes, we should get on with it.” Jake didn’t seem phased in the slightest by the insults, turning and glancing Dirk over once before nodding. “You can’t be seen walking out of here. Karkat, can you send him to my rooms until I get there?”

“Wait-” Dirk began, but Karkat was already smiling broadly, not pausing this time before striking his glowing fingers with a sharp _snap._

Time froze, everything flaring too bright and too saturated with colour that made Dirk’s eyes water, and he felt his body lock up with pins and needles that started in his head and then washed down his body, urging him to move but leaving him too numb to manage. Before he could even force a gasp out of his parted lips, the same reality that stung simply shattered and began to spin around him, a swarm of colour and indistinct shapes that grew closer and began to hum when the ground beneath him gave way and left him plummeting, tumbling without moving, the cyclone growing faster and sharper and tearing at his buzzing skin as he tried to scream and found nothing but a scattered cloud of orange and red fell from his lips and whipped up into the wash like all the rest.

He’d had the colours in his mind run wild, but having the reality he’d struggled to accept at all turn to nonsense and nothing was _worse,_ tearing his sanity from him in a way that felt more real and inescapable. There was no shelter in his own mind when that humming buzz invaded it, and before his eyes everything was madness; and then it wasn’t, and he stood in Jake’s bedroom.

The world didn’t come back together slowly, it snapped into focus somewhere entirely different and new, and Dirk’s body finally gave way to the need to move, his knees hitting the hard floor before he doubled over and scrambled to pull the mask aside, dry retching with every shudder that passed through him. Everywhere there had been the buzz was now aching, burning; his head pounded, and his vision blurred with tears.

When the shudders faded, he curled up against the ground and waited. Once again the constant chorus of his time in Prospit returned: he was in hell, and damned, and dying, if this wasn’t already the nightmare and he was long lost to the world.

 

 

“Start with the laces on the front, and work over my shoulders.”

Dirk’s fingers had stopped trembling enough he could manage that, at least, his silence since Jake returned clearly noticed but left unquestioned. Jake hadn’t actually said anything to him that wasn’t an order, of one sort or another- get up, breathe, drink this, get that, start here- and Dirk found he was thankful for the focus, when all his mind wanted to do was get lost in the colours that had stolen him from the cave and all the fear they still flooded his thoughts with.

So instead, he laced, a criss cross up Jake’s stomach and split over his chest, joining back up between his shoulderblades and down the length of his spine. The motion was repetitive, easy, a mechanical motion that he could follow with his fingers and eyes as he took note of every insignificant eyelet and curve. He’d paid as much attention to each layer he’d pulled onto Jake’s legs over the tights he wore, skirt over shorts over pants over belted boots, and the laces closed white linen over a corset and a vest, and yet still there was a collar and a jacket and a cloak. More layers than Dirk had worn in his life, and all drawn onto Jake by a man who was barely in _one_.

Dirk savoured the contrast, and thought if nothing else, Prospit was far more visually divisive than the simpler lines of Derse.

“The collar, next. It should just fit over.”

It did, and he straightened it dutifully, before taking the jacket as he was told and helping Jake pull it on. His fingers ran over Jake’s arm as he carefully turned the cuffs up over the finer silk gloves that had replaced the leather. Dirk didn’t miss the way Jake’s muscles tightened as his hands lingered to lace the gloves at the wrist, or the small shiver he earned when his fingers tucked in the fabric against the soft inner curve of Jake’s elbow.

He glanced up, and Jake was watching him again, lips parted silently until Dirk let go and took the cloak, sliding it over Jake’s shoulders and securely fixing the twin wings that held it closed in place. They settled easy over his chest, golden and delicate, more like flower petals carved to shape than metal beaten into place. For a moment Dirk simply looked at them, and thought of how many times he’d seen crude copies of the sign burned and torn apart; for a moment, he wondered what sign his brother’s chest had been heavy with.

“The crown,” Jake prompted gently, and Dirk blinked out of his daze, jerking his hands back and turning quickly to the bed.

It was plain, much more than the tall thing the Empress wore, a circlet that came to a steep point and was split in three by rivers of emerald. Jake had held a hand out, glowing soft and warm, and then it had simply _existed,_ sitting on the bed without so much as a velvet cushion to give it any status beyond what its simple beauty held.

Dirk had expected it to be heavier, but it was light in his hands, and he lifted it enough to look at his own reflection in the metal. The face that stared back was half-hidden and unrecognisable for it. Only the colours that showed between the marks of Prospit proved he remained, somewhere inside it all, hair still stark and white against his tan skin and eyes that same terrible amber that had countless times been mocked as a sign of the sun in a land where all bowed to the moon.

The crown slipped easily into place amongst Jake’s hair, Dirk’s fingers catching the strands that hung unruly around it and easing them into a semblance of regality instead. Once it was done, and settled, Dirk’s fingers paused at Jake’s temples and he gazed over the line of the circlet to make sure it sat proud and even; then he realised Jake was staring at him again, and drew his hands away.

“Is that everything?” Dirk asked, voice cracking and cheeks dark. Jake blinked, uncertain, before nodding, loosening the fists his fingers had curled into and gently stretching his hands one at a time.

“I… have that announcement to give,” he said eventually, the long pause he’d broken feeling like a held breath. “I won’t ask you to come with me, you’ve already had too much to cope with today. I don’t suggest you leave the room, but I have a balcony.”

“I know.” Dirk smiled thinly beneath the silk.

“Right- right, yes, well.” He stepped away, towards the door. “There’ll be dinner later, I’ll fetch you for that. You’ll have to pour my drinks and fill my plate but you can eat as well, and you’ll be beside me. I think you’ll get the hang of all this before you know it, sport, and Signless willing you’re not stuck doing it for long.”

They lingered awkwardly, looking at each other and exchanging curt nods, before Jake slipped out and the door glowed locked behind him, leaving Dirk alone to finally loosen his shoulders and slump into a quiet groan.

It hadn’t been as bad as his mind told him it might’ve been. It hadn’t been bad at _all,_ beyond the shame that he hadn’t managed to shake, and the last burst of fear he felt when he saw any sign of the magic that echoed through this city. With a distrustful glance at the door that had so recently shown the light and ether bite, Dirk headed for the balcony instead, revelling in the taste of fresh air that wasn’t put there by some infernal breeze.

His gaze travelled back over the path he had taken to arrive here, the thought of how simple it would be to hop over the rails and travel back down it not lost on him. They spoke of the ward, but all puzzles could be solved in time, all challenges overcome. If he escaped the city and headed into the wilds, instead of back to Derse…

“I _told_ you I saw him,” a woman said by his ear, and Dirk gave a startled cry as he fumbled to keep his grip on the rails and turn, but the motion was interrupted by an arm in a horridly familiar glove and drifting top slamming into the metal beside him and stopping him turning fully.

“Liar! You didn’t _see_ anything!” A different woman replied as Dirk twisted away, managing to turn in time for a cane to slice down into the rail and block his path once again.

“Alright, but I _tasted_ him, and smelled Karkat all over his clothes.”

“And now he’s caught like a fly in a trap. _Tragic,_ really.”

There were two Demons now, both with smiles that were wide and sharp, one with long hair and a shattered eye and the other- He _knew_ those eyes and the way they burned, he’d seen them down a hall when she watched him with what he knew now was a smile. Between her cane and the other’s arm he could barely move beyond pressing back uncomfortably against the metal, setting his jaw and doing his best to look defiant in the face of those Karkat’s voice helpfully reminded him were likely here to _tear him limb from limb._

“Oh, oh, oh, _oh._ ” Shattered-eye cooed as her smile turned to half an expression of surprise, her other hand rising to drag a claw down his nose despite his attempts to turn away. “I _know_ your face, little fly. Terezi, _Terezi,_ tell me who he tastes like _now,_ go on, I _dare_ you.”

The claw on his skin turned to a painful grip on his cheeks, holding his shuddering head still as the other- _Terezi-_ leaned forward inhaled against his skin before dragging a rough tongue like sandpaper up his mask and cheek, flicking the unnaturally long thing with a curl by his eye. She smacked her lips as her mask fell back into place, then laughed in hissing wheezes that shot out chalky dust from her mouth.

“ _Strider,_ ” she drawled, copying a voice that reverberated around the back of his mind. “Oh, that’s _good,_ isn’t it? Judge and jury for both, and a punishment given twice.”

“I _knew_ it. You’re a _long_ way from home, boy.” Terezi’s companion dragged out the long to live up to its purpose, dragging Dirk’s face towards her as she admired his features with wild blue light dancing between the speckles of her broken pupil. “And dressing up in _Karkat’s_ clothes? Ugh. You need to get some taste, if you want to consort with someone, you could do _way_ better than _that_ crabby ass.”

“Doesn’t smell like he’s consorted with _anyone_.” Terezi grabbed his wrist without warning, shoving his hand to her face and inhaling again. “Clean! Clean and empty and wasted. At least _Dave_ knew how to _party._ ”

“Stop- _Stop that!_ ” Dirk snatched his hand back from her grip and she laughed again, dragging her tongue over the red dust that settled on her lips. “Don’t say his name!”

“Or what? You’ll run and cry to- Oooh,” the taller one cooed, dropping his hand to cover her mouth in mock dismay. “ _That’s_ right. You don’t have anyone left to cry to!”

“Vriska!” Terezi freed her cane to smack Vriska’s back with it. “Play nice or Aranea’s going to lecture you about _human relations_ all over again, and I have better leads to investigate than sitting around listening to that all day.”

“Fine! Fine. You’re a _bore._ ”

“A bore who gets things done _without_ getting dragged off to the naughty corner for hours of blah, blah, _blah._ ”

Dirk seized the moment to try to duck around them, but with a tut Vriska had caught his collar, flinging him back against the rails and keeping her hand there.

“So what’s your deal, second edition? All dressed up in pretty Prospit colours after sneaking around in- what is it you call us? Oh, right, _Demon’s_ clothes.” She giggled. “I know what they say about us in Derse, I’ve heard _aaall_ the rumours. Think we’ll eat your flesh and spit out your bones? Aw, we won’t! Well… _Terezi_ might.”

“I don’t eat humans anymore,” Terezi answered firmly, then smiled at Dirk with all her fangs showing. “I just like to drink their blood.”

He blanched away, and that got another laugh shared between them both, before all at once their faces were straight and curious, the grip on his collar turning loose. Vriska leaned back on her heels to look him over, then settled back flat-footed, raising her slender brow.

“But really, what _are_ you doing here? English is dumb, but he isn’t _this_ dumb, and even if he _is,_ John’s not.” She pouted thoughtfully, wiggling her fingers amongst the bunched-up fabric. “Not that I really _care,_ humans can do what they like, but… It seems to me that the only reason a Strider would be in Prospit at the King’s behest is because he’s planning on getting some good old fashioned revenge on a certain Empress, but that _can’t_ be why you’re here!”

“W-Why not?” Dirk scowled at her, ignoring the thunder of his heart as she leaned closer.

“Because you’re bringing a blade to a fight between _Gods,_ and you haven’t even used it to make the cut that matters.”

“I won’t make deals with demons!”

“Exactly! Which is why you’re going to die, and unlike your brother, _no one_ is going to care when _you’re_ a huddled corpse at her feet.” Vriska let go of him and straightened, sweeping back the hair that escaped her hood as she gave a pleased sigh. “You’re going to turn up without any power, and she’s going to burn you into the ground. If you really think you have a chance without magic, go ahead! It’ll be fun to watch you fail.”

“Magic is in the blood,” he murmured, and this time her laugh was loud and bright.

“Oh, _please!_ It’s only in the blood once _we_ put it there.”

Dirk thought of glowing palms against his cheek, of hands calling wind, of others calling rock.

_We don’t consort with Demons, Dirk._

It hadn’t occurred to him how absurdly blatant Jane’s lie was until now.

“I don’t… I don’t want that.” He closed his hands, hid his palms from them, and they shared a long look. “I won’t be like that- I won’t be like _them,_ I’m not from this place and I won’t give up my pride, not anymore than they’ve already stamped on it.”

“Pride?” Terezi snorted. “This is isn’t about your _pride._ I liked Dave, I think I owe him enough to give you a fair chance to-”

“If he doesn’t want to listen to us, he doesn’t want to listen,” Vriska interrupted, shaking her head. “He’ll either learn and maybe live, or he won’t and he’ll just die.”

“Dave learned,” Terezi muttered.

“My brother didn’t make deals with the damned!” Dirk clenched his hands tighter, shaking his head. “ _Stop!_ Stop acting like you knew him, stop acting like he was like that!”

Vriska scoffed and reached forward to knock her knuckles against his temple, lip curled over her finer fangs. Her touch brought a stab of pain, a flash of something that wasn’t his, another of their kind smiling with joy and a man beside her with a blade and white hair-

“ _STOP!”_

Dirk fell, and they didn’t stop him, watching as he ended up hunched on the ground. His shoulders trembled, the image scattering as he clawed it apart. Each breath hurt his chest. He could feel the world drawing back, and this time he pushed, forced it away, but not fast enough to miss Vriska’s final stab.

“Rich words from the failure who never knew him at _all._ ”

They were gone. He _felt_ them leave, even with his eyes screwed shut, felt the weight of their presence vanish with a laugh and the taste of blood, and then he was alone in the silence, alone with the last fragments of a memory that didn’t belong and a face he’d nearly forgotten until she forced it back into his mind.

He did his best to pull the face back together, enough to gather other memories of a blur and draw them into sharper focus, to put a smile to the voice that he could barely hear.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've been really surprised by the response to this fic and really, I hope it continues to be a fun ride for all of you! I'll be posting things like the outfit references on [my blog](http://khemi.tumblr.com/) under the **#kots au** tag, which I'll also be tracking, so if you want to see my various AU scribbles and thoughts check it out, and feel free to ask questions and contribute! :)


	4. The Waking Prince

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Time has passed and Dirk is learning how to walk again, but there's a lot to take in, a lot of people to learn from. He has a long way to go before he feels at home in Prospit- But maybe if he's willing to try, that isn't so outlandish after all.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi! This one is long! From here on out the chapters will likely be longer, because I realised I have way more ground to cover than I thought, and I want to give this AU the outing it deserves. Things get spicie from next chapter on, though! Be ready B)

 

“You know Aranea and Meenah informed me a _horrific_ number of the servants in the treasury are still talking about your visit like it’s the most exciting fucking thing that’s ever happened to any of them. And I do mean _your_ visit. I mean, what was it they said? Oh, right. Mister _I’d like to be the one who oils him up in the baths, I bet the King really enjoys having that in his bed, did you see his eyes imagine what the rest of him looks like._ ” Karkat growled, scrubbing his hand over the visible half of his face. “You know, for someone who’s meant to be laying low in a disguise, you’re attracting _a ton of shitting attention._ ”

“I haven’t been doing anything I’m not commanded to do.” Dirk gestured pointedly at the crossbow in his lap, waving the polishing cloth up at his unwelcome companion before dipping it back in the tin by his feet and returning to his work. “It’s not my fault Jake doesn’t understand the principle of _understatement._ ”

“English understands the principle _fine,_ he’s just pushing his luck on a stupid gamble.”

“Then maybe someone should talk to him. Someone he actually listens to.” Dirk paused, turning and smiling under his mask. “Unless Jane already said no?”

Karkat scowled.

That answered that, and Dirk snorted as he returned to the bow, carefully working the cloth over the filigree that danced along the tiller. “Well, at least you appear beside me at every given opportunity to terrify everyone away.”

“Wow, what a sincere expression of gratitude at my ongoing attempts to help you avoid imprisonment or death.” Karkat clapped a hand to his chest, swooning overdramatically over to lay along the wall Dirk was leaning against. “I’m moved. I might weep, I’m not sure I can hold back all of my feelings. Careful, I might not be able to stop myself falling prey to the human emotion of friendship!”

“Friendship isn’t an emotion.”

“ _Fuck you_ isn’t an emotion either, but here I am feeling it.”

The spirit- Dirk hated that the word had stuck, but there it was, and he was too tired to correct it back to _demon-_ slid off the wall and stretched, far too many bones cracking in his back before he crossed his arms and peered down critically at Dirk’s handiwork. After a moment, he stepped closer, dropping a hand to tap a covered claw against the weapon. “...Little more on the top. He gets closest to it there when he’s lining up a shot, it’s the part that needs to be cleanest under close inspection.”

“I thought it took a deal with you to get your advice,” Dirk muttered, taking it anyway and redoubling his efforts to get the metal shining over the varnished wood.

“Well aren’t I just _full_ of surprises.”

Much as Dirk would be loathe to admit it out loud, he _was,_ one more surprise in a week that had become an ongoing series of broken misconceptions and unexpected encounters. He had a feeling Jake was very purposefully choosing where he was taken and what he saw, but that censorship was no different from what he suffered in Derse and he wasn't fool enough not to fill in the gaps with glimpses and overheard conversations about what he hadn't seen. The treasury had in fact been a personal victory; a few questions and suggestions taken more to heart than he expected them to be, and Jake had walked him straight into the largest collection of magical artefacts in Prospit, and stood discussing scrying tools with the spirit Dirk first mistook as Vriska long enough for Dirk to brand the image of the strange devices he didn’t understand into his memory.

Even now as he worked, he was dissecting those same recollections, breaking apart the mental constructs and finding patterns in what had seemed like chaos. What had come first, he wondered, the golden city or the golden metals that all the devices seemed to be forged of? Why was steel so rarely used, and the things that had streaks of silver kept chained? What use were the coloured stones that held the same glow as a caster’s eyes, and why were the same colours repeated over and over, shades of green and blue and the blur between them?

All over the memory, the artefacts, one other repeating symbol: the sign of a broken hand cut in two, carved in wood and forged in metal, painted in bright colours and stained in dark inks, it was branded over the devices over and over. What it meant was clear, the cut palm of those who had made deals and foul promises, but to see it so prevalent on magical works was enough to make his convictions about natural born magic falter. Had Vriska told him the truth? Were the spirits what brought magic into this world, the source that continue to pour it into fresh, willing souls?

And if she _had_ told the truth about the source of magic and what it was spirits really offered-

Had they told him the truth about Dave?

“ _Dirk._ ”

He tensed as Karkat gripped his wrist, jolting back into reality and turning his gaze up to where he expected to find anger in the demon’s features but found them lined with concern instead. Karkat slowly lifted his arm away from the crossbow, shaking his head- “If you keep pressing so hard you’re going to break it.”

“Oh- fuck.” Dirk curled his fingers and dropped them when Karkat let go, not resisting when the bow was taken from him. “I was… distracted.”

“I had no idea. Except- wait! I _did_ , because your face did the _thing_ where it gets all super focused and you could bend a steel bar around your furrowed brows.” Karkat tugged the cloth off him as well and sat beside him, starting to polish in his place despite the frown Dirk gave him. “Don’t give me that look. This needs done, preferably _without_ destroying Jake’s prized weapons, and if _you’re_ going to drown in your inner turmoil then _someone_ has to do it.”

“There is no _inner turmoil_.”

“Uh _huh,_ and _I’m_ the King of the Sun.”

The irritation didn’t last, which in _itself_ was frustrating, and Dirk groaned and rolled his head back to lean against the half-wall, staring up at the roof of the stable they’d been left behind in and quietly counting the beams. The horses were absent, taken on a ride around the forest Dirk had discovered was contained within walls inside the city, existing just for the enjoyment of those powerful enough to hunt prey caught and brought to the palace so it could be freed and hunted in a false wilderness that was carefully maintained at the _correct_ level of nature so it didn’t upset the delicate sensibilities of those who trot through it with enchanted weapons in hand. Today at least, there was no hunt, just riding, pretending a cultivated path through trimmed and shaped trees was in any way actually _wild._

Then again, Derse had been no better; at least there was actually _greenery_ in Prospit.

He made a face at the thought, invasive and unpleasant, another sign of weakness in the face of a golden onslaught. Even if Prospit wasn’t what he’d imagined- No. His mind turned back to a staircase, and Jane’s eyes turning away from his.

_I know where those stories came from._

There was more to this place than he’d been allowed to see.

“Why is John down there?” He’d put off asking too long, and he heard Karkat stop moving as he sighed. “Is it a prison?”

“Only because he decided it was going to be.” Karkat was frowning when Dirk opened his eyes, the crossbow floating above his finger on a cinder-laced red mist. It span slowly, his eyes glowing as they watched it. “But if you’re asking if something is keeping him down in the dark? No. The only thing barring that door is his own stupid obsession.”

Dirk considered that, watching the bow move warily but without the fear that had choked him on his first days, now a quieter sort of discomfort that never quite left his chest. Magic was so casually pervasive here; he didn’t understand it, but he knew he had to adapt quickly to cope, and as long as people like Vriska stayed away from him he could brace himself to take the rest.

“They tell stories about John in Derse,” he said quietly, and Karkat answered the unspoken question with a rough laugh.

“They tell stories about John in _Prospit,_ ” the spirit answered flatly, “and ours are worse, because ours are all true.”

“When I met Jake I thought… I started to think maybe the stories about a mad King were a lie, or I _hoped_ they were, I guess. Something the Empress made up to keep us all in line, that was easier to swallow than deny, some sugar to make the poison go down when she whipped us all into line.” Dirk massaged his temples, before he tugged at the cloth over his mouth, adjusting it to try and shake the sudden awareness of its presence. “I don’t… get it. If John was as bad as I’ve heard- If he was even _partly_ that person…”

“Why was Dave his friend?”

Dirk nodded, cheeks heating and gaze fixed on the floor.

“I always thought it was obvious.” Karkat dropped the bow and caught it, setting it down carefully between them. “John was- a terrible King. I’m not going to defend any of the shit he pulled. He was a good leader, always has been, but as _King_ he had too much power at a time when he needed it the least. He came to the throne a few days after his mother died, he knew she’d been assassinated and he was already on the verge of breaking, because Harley and Lalonde had both taken off for their own reasons and he was terrified something would happen to Jane. He put so many defences into place, had the city ready for an invasion, was so convinced he’d wake up with a knife in his back or the palace burning or something; and that’s why she got to him, the Empress. Because he was so sure he knew what she wanted, but she didn’t want him _dead,_ she wanted him _broken_ , so… she broke him.”

“None of that is an answer,” Dirk muttered, and Karkat laughed.

“Dave wasn’t friends with the _Mad King of Prospit_ , Dirk. Dave was friends with _John._ Good friends, close friends. Closer than anyone. _”_ He sighed. “The day after John became King, Derse sent him a messenger and he leapt on the chance to hear from Dave, you know, the one friend he had left who he felt hadn’t abandoned him.”

Dirk understood then, stomach turning.

“The first story they tell about John is the time he knocked a man’s head from his shoulders with a single hammerblow, and sent the messenger’s crushed skull back to the Empress with a promise that if he ever saw her colours in Prospit again, he’d do far worse than kill the one wearing them. He kept that promise for nearly twenty years, kept it _enthusiastically,_ and with no regret; yet all the blood that stained the golden halls and all the lives he took as recompense were never enough to match the weight of one single heart gone still.”

Dirk stared at his hands, palms turned up towards himself, thinking of hate that had been in his blood once and finding that for all he expected the first person who might have _understood_ was a man he’d loathed more than any other. He shook his head slowly, curling his fingers and refusing to think of the stories again, refusing to think of it being for a cause he might have supported just as violently, just as swiftly.

“And all of that,” Karkat continued quietly, “was fucking _idiotic.”_ He smacked a fist back against the wall, growling quietly. “I know he gave a lot of shits about Strider, I know, trust me, holy shit, I _know,_ but he went _off the deep end_ and by the time I dragged him kicking and screaming back to reality it was _way_ too late to do anything but damage control! And by damage control I mean _force him to abdicate_ so there wasn’t a _civil war._ ”

“And then he trapped himself in a cave?”

“No. The cave thing was- later. Different. He wanted to help so he used the quiet to focus his abilities, and then when the Denizen-” Karkat broke off and dragged his claws down the wall, leaving pale marks behind them. “It all went to shit in a new way, and this time I can’t help him.”

“The Denizen-” That word again, that title. Dirk glanced at Karkat. “What is it? Is it like you? The noises in the dark… Were they..?”

Karkat tensed, raising his hand to look at the scuffed fabric over his talons and scowling at the damage before he spoke, calm and measured despite his expression. “...You don’t want me to answer that.”

There was a warning in it, subtle but jarring, and Dirk let the topic drop, folding his arms over his knees and resting his chin to them instead. He’d still learned something, another story to file away, another possible truth to be weighed against the rest; and once more, despite _everything,_ he was inclined to believe this demon who sat with him and knit broken gloves back together with small molten-white threads, whose fangs and bite seemed to have no lie in them, the truth more cutting when it struck so surely.

“You haven’t had a panic in a few days,” Karkat observed, another blade made of honestly. Dirk shrugged, keeping his eyes low. “Think you’re settled?”

“It was a lot to take in. I’m sure anyone would have struggled, especially just after having, what is it Jake calls it? _A lungful of mindfuck._ ” He grimaced, poking at the polish and then lifting the glittering bow to idly check the work, like it _wouldn’t_ be flawless. “I adapted, I’ll survive. I’m not usually so… easy to get to.”

“Yeah, well, _that’s_ a pile of shit, but whatever helps you sleep at night.” The spirit rolled his eyes. “What is it with you people all thinking any weakness has to be stamped all over before someone realises you’re human? Even _we_ don’t do that. Hey- Fun facts, fucknuts. I get that shit too, the not being able to breathe and feeling like the world is imploding on you? Yeah. See. Look at that expression, it’s almost like we have something in _common._ ” He snorted as Dirk looked away again, hastily, cheeks heated and surprise forced quickly back to a neutral line. “Sure, it’s not exactly the same, but you definitely get the better end of _that_ unsavoury shitstain of a deal. When _I_ start flipping my shit, I tend to burst into flames.”

Dirk forgot he wasn’t meant to be staring. “Like… actual _fire_?”

“Like you could roast nuts on me until I start melting the fuck through the floor, yes.”

“Huh. That makes passing out seem much less…” His voice faded as his thoughts caught up, his eyes narrowing with soft suspicions that were too reasonable to ignore. “Following me around… You weren’t trying to scare people away, were you?”

“No. Well.” Karkat shrugged. “Not unless you needed me to.”

“Why would you do that? Oh, _wait_ ,” Dirk’s lip curled and he ducked his head again, weight settling on his chest. “It’s because I’m _valuable,_ right? I’m… some pawn in whatever shit is happening above my head.”

“We’re all pawns, asshole, and if you think I actually give a shit about using you in some fucked up game I’m not even playing, you haven’t been paying much attention. I’m an advisor, I nudge pieces around but I can’t move them, and I _definitely_ don’t give a fuck about who’s _valuable_ and who’s _not_ , because that’s a messed up way to see the world and you don’t have to be human to know that.” Karkat poked his shoulder with the pad of a finger, held carefully so the claw didn’t strike his skin. “Sure, your position on the board is pretty unique, and some people are going to want to jump into your bed to make sure you’re wearing their colours when you win, but I’d sooner break my own spine to get my lips around _my_ hefty ballsack than get on my knees to lick yours, and if you think I’d chase you around to give John or Jake an advantage, you _definitely_ aren’t keeping up.”

“What use is there in following me, then?”

“You’re a long way from home, you don’t want to be here, but home is just as bad and you’ve got no one left to trust for any reason other than you feel like you have to. You don’t want to do any of this but you know there’s no choice, and the only reason you’re not panicking anymore is because you’re slamming shit in a box and locking it up so you can pretend you’re stronger than you are and that you aren’t drowning in something way beyond your depth- but you are. You’re drowning, and there’s nothing to hold onto, and maybe… Maybe if one piece of burned up driftwood can keep you floating long enough to breathe one more time, maybe _somehow_ you’ll figure out how to swim.”

Dirk stared at him again, open and confused, and Karkat sighed and forced himself up to his feet without meeting his gaze, the red glow in his eyes muted and dim.

“Look at that,” he muttered, turning to ash from the feet up as horses whinnied somewhere close to the stables. “Something in _common._ ”

Then he was gone, and Dirk watched the ash swirl in the air before he stood and pushed the polish tin back against the wall with his foot, hefting the bow with his other hands to hold it ready for inspection. Dark dust and fading cinders settled around his feet as the door ahead was slammed open by a jovial smack, and then the quiet bubble burst and the whole building was alive with loud laughter and chatter, the thunder of hooves being gathered and directed and the firm stomp of the group who had broken off to come find him, Jake leading a few Prospitans Dirk knew as Lords by the lines of a sun painted in white around their eyes, their status too low to let it be filled like the symbol that stood out starkly on Jake’s face.

“My compliments to Tavros, the forest is as ever impeccable and its inhabitants simply _delightful_ to encounter!” Jake flashed a smile at a man who nodded and ducked away, but as his face turned back so only Dirk could see it, his smile faded and his exhaustion showed in his eyes. “Tell them to send my dinner to my room, would you? I don’t think I’ll be dining in the hall tonight.”

Another nod, another man peeling away from the group, powerful men eager to ignore status for a chance to curry the favour of the King. They came to a halt in front of Dirk and Jake took the crossbow, looking it over closely and holding it up to peer down the sights before he nodded curtly, pressing it back into Dirk’s hands with a wearier smile. “Been a while since it’s shone like that, always seems to be a mess when I want it.”

“Maybe you shouldn’t drag it through so much mud, then, your Highness,” Dirk answered quietly, and though it got an affronted mutter from one of the patchwork fools surrounding Jake like crows after a fresh carcass, Jake himself glanced at Dirk’s face with a surprised grin, tapping the back of his gloved hand to Dirk’s shoulder in as close as anyone in Prospit ever seemed to come to actual casual contact.

“A stunning piece of advice. I’ll keep it in mind, but I make no promises.” A curt wave of both hands and the men were dismissed, leaving Dirk to duck and grab the can and cloth before he hurried after Jake, towards the path back to the Palace. “The mud’s just so damn enticing, you see, all the best shots come from down there.”

“Have you ever considered climbing trees instead?”

“Once or twice.”

“I recommend it.”

“Duly noted.”

The tin and cloth were left on the shelf they’d been gathered from, and Dirk adjusted the crossbow as he jogged to catch up with Jake’s unpaused stride, wondering how Jake managed to hold two of these heavy bows at once with the size of him and quickly supplying the obvious answer- _magic-_ with a roll of his eyes at how often that was the explanation to _everything_ here. Just for once he would like something in Prospit to have a _mundane_ explanation. The speed he’d had to swallow his pride and accept what he hated was simply unavoidably around him was testament to how there was _too much of it,_ in his own quiet opinion, held with a bitten tongue and growing more muted in leaps and bounds with each passing day.

What frustrated him most was that more often than not he’d begun to see the _usefulness_ of it, and he despised how weak the admittance made him feel.

Jake raised a hand and ahead of them the flagstones shifted, lifting with a glow that was opalescent gold and green; they settled into a staircase that Jake started up without hesitation, and Dirk followed more warily, looking down as the appalling thin and unsupported stones rose further and further from the ground. He felt like it would have been less strange if they’d moved or bobbed somehow, but they were still and steady below his feet like there was more below them, yet he knew from experience that if he reached below it would be air and nothing else and he would be left once more trying to make his mind accept that it just _was_ how it _was,_ and there wasn’t an explanation to swallow beyond-

_Magic._

Dirk groaned and picked up the pace.

Jake didn’t even bother with the token hand motion as they reached the solid wall of the palace, the golden bricks gracefully twisting and coming apart into a rough archway for them both to duck through, Dirk’s steps growing easier now he was back on wood that he knew was over beams and stone. The servants they passed hadn’t even blinked at the abrupt intrusion, beyond respectfully bowing their heads and then staring at Dirk like he wasn’t aware that’s what they were doing, like he didn’t know their soft giggles and whispers weren’t thanks to catching a glimpse of the King’s man, which seemed far more exciting to them than it was to him.

He glanced back at them and they all jumped and then scurried away, off to busy themselves with whatever they could find.

“You shouldn’t be so hard on them,” Jake said lightly, and Dirk’s attention slipped back to him, frown masked by cloth and eyes pointedly impassive. “They’re just curious, and that’s fair, given the circumstances.”

“I didn’t think it was common knowledge, whatever your excuse for me is.”

“It’s not, but it _is_ common knowledge I’ve never had a personal servant before.” Jake turned and gestured, and Dirk knew the sign, pausing by one of the ornate fountains that were set into the walls of the public halls and taking a bowl from the edge to fill it. By the time he straightened Jake had come to a stop by one of the windows, and gave a small nod before Dirk raised the bowl and let it meet the King’s lips.

It was degrading at best, a personal humiliation at worse, but given some of the duties that had been forced on him in Derse, he would abide standing and helping a grown man drink. Jake kept it thankfully brief, and it was easy to tell he’d rather do it himself- but a servant had to have a purpose to be needed. They’d both stomach the price of the ruse.

Dirk lowered the bowl when Jake lifted his fingers at his side, returning it to the fountain to pour the rest of the water away and wipe the damp rim with the soft palm of his glove.

“Why did you never have anyone?” He took the chance to ask while Jake seemed talkative, glad for something beyond awkward glances and the memory of angry words that had burned a bridge back to the bare beginnings of building. Jake wiped his mouth, starting to undo the bracers on his wrists to occupy his hands despite the fact they both knew it was Dirk’s duty to do it.

“Does it really need explaining? Grandma had one, lovely girl, and ended up with a slit throat for the trust she showed her. None of us have had one since; Jane does everything herself, says servants are outdated, and she’s probably right. John… I think you could guess that his servants aren’t the human sort.”

“And you didn’t have one either.”

“Not until you, no. If you were wondering why you’re such a thrilling topic of discussion, there you have it.” Jake chuckled, tucking the bracers beneath his arm. “Ah, that and your eyes. I’m sure they’d make even more of a fuss if they could see the whole thing, your face isn’t a disappointment, but they make do with what they’re given.”

Dirk pat his hands off and straightened, bowl back at rest, carefully placing that remark aside for later consideration and focusing on more relevant avenues of thought. “I thought the intention was to keep me hidden? This seems a little blatant.”

“Oh, it is. She’s probably suspicious, and questioning, and the Court is full of discussions over what me accepting your company means.” He smiled, smoothing his gloves down. “I believe the current most supported theories are the classic thought that we’re lovers, with a swell of support recently for you actually being a sign of Jade’s ongoing power over me and my decisions, and a particularly fanciful camp has had a surprising level of backing over the idea you’re actually an illusion I created for company and don’t actually exist at all beyond a mirror of myself.”

“There’s magic that would let you make an entire man?”

“Difficult magic, rare magic, but yes.” Jake lifted his head and turned towards Dirk, taking a step forward to show it was time to move on. “They’ve never quite decided what magic I have, exactly, so it was only a matter of time before they started getting more ludicrous.”

Dirk fell into step beside him. It was hard not to think of such things and not look towards Jake’s hands, covered at his side, and wonder if he would have seen scars there if he’d paid more attention, or if there was something hiding them, if they were even _there…_

“Were you… born with magic?” The need to know was too much to ignore, and he ignored the shame he felt in the question. “Or…”

“No one is born with magic.”

An answer, then, and not the one he wanted. Dirk had put off asking too long because he feared what he would find, and his worries had not been misplaced.

“There were… women, who said as much,” he explained quietly. “Vriska-”

“-And Terezi? I didn’t know they’d spoken to you.” Jake’s concern was apparent, his steps losing their steady beat. “Did they say anything else?”

“I’m sure you can guess.”

They walked in silence until they reached the stairs towards Jake’s private rooms, climbing with a palpable discomfort in the air between them that barely shifted when the lights behind them began to flicker out one by one, a sign that no one was to disturb the King unless called for or invited and laid in stone by the unseen wards that drew like tripwires across the stairwell where each light had shone. Dirk still couldn’t quite make them out, but he was getting better; a slight shimmer in the air was detectable if he crossed his eyes, and it was better than nothing at all.

They passed by a window that Jake dragged the shutters over with a disinterested gesture, then moved on beyond the guards who always remained on duty between dawn and twilight, and finally to the sunburst door that led to the room they shared, for better or for worse. Jake locked it behind them, and stepped around the cot Dirk had been given on the floor, pausing in the entrance to the balcony before he spread his arms and brought the doors together and the heavier drapes unravelling down across them.

“We are unseen.”

Dirk took the invitation instantly, dragging his mask off and the hood down after it and shaking out his hair before he ruffled it back from its flattened state with his fingers once he dragged his glove off with his teeth. The other glove followed and all of it was discarded on the bed, leaving him to massage his arms to rid himself of the sensation of the hair on them prickling to the air. For once, he was left to it, Jake taking his riding leathers off himself and fidgeting with the plainer cloth below as he did a poor job of avoiding Dirk’s wary gaze, still waiting for answers that hadn’t been offered but had _certainly_ been _implied._

“Not everyone can summon spirits,” Jake started at last, pouring himself a goblet of wine from the bottle standing on his dresser. “It used to be that they wandered Skaia and determined men would hunt them down and bargain with them when they found them, but they were wilder then, and didn’t trust humans to keep our promises… So they would give boons but only at great cost, and usually that cost was terrible, and steep, and if I am not mistaken it was that malarkey that led to Derse deciding to call them Demons, and turn its back on them and the deals they’d make. It was rather sensible, honestly! Back _then,_ of course, back then, because things _changed_ , and now Derse is afraid of a non-existent horror whose source was put on civil terms by Prospitan perseverance.”

To Dirk’s surprise Jake filled a second goblet and offered it, and Dirk moved over to take it, careful to avoid Jake’s gloved hands to avoid the usual alarm any kind of contact of the sort got him.

“There was a woman, many years ago, who made a deal with a spirit whose name we’ve long since lost. The deal was simple, really; she could summon spirits, instead of others having to hunt them, but unless blood was spilled to keep them bound, they would leave shortly after. At first, there were sacrifices, and…” Jake sighed as Dirk’s expression shifted, nodding and lifting his hand in an apologetic gesture of understanding. “ _Yes_ , well, mistakes were made there, _but,_ eventually a spirit called the Signless took offence to the wasted life and suggested the spilled blood should be symbolic. His sign had been a cut palm but he gave it up- signs are all very important and powerful to spirits in a way like true names are to people- and we took it to use as the bond instead, a slit across the palm to appease the old agreement and spill our blood without death, and it worked so well for all involved that long after the first woman passed it became something maintained out of courtesy and tradition.”

“Better than _killing people,_ I _suppose._ ” Dirk sniffed the wine and then sipped, ignoring Jake’s nervous laugh. “So magic is the boon they give?”

“It’s the word we use for it, yes. Usually- with _one_ exception of note that I can recall this instant- a spirit will gift a single greater ability for an unspoken price. It tends to have side-effects, smaller things that branch from the central pillar… and it will have an inevitable result. The spirits have a greater understanding of the world than we do, and whatever they gift a particular person is _planned_ in some way. Instead of the costs they used to ask for, the things that turned Derse on them, it’s become rather standard for the price to simply be that by saying yes, you know you will directly benefit the spirit in some way, and given each person will not know which spirit will offer them the deal until the very moment before…” He inclined his head. “I am sure you can see how knowing someone like Vriska would benefit from them might turn someone off the idea pretty darn quick.”

Dirk did _not_ want to dwell on that thought. “And the exception?”

“There’s a spirit I’ve heard will grant two gifts. Still related, but both too powerful to be a branch of the other. He’s… difficult, however, choosy. He hasn’t been summoned in my lifetime.” Jake took a mouthful of wine. “Then _again,_ I haven’t really had many spirits summoned recently at all. The… old King-”

“-John-”

Jake sighed.

“ _Yes,_ John, he had an advisor, Jade- Her magic let her summon them. She used to have someone to direct her, but after that it became quite random- And not long after John took the throne she left the palace. I’m not sure where she went, but since she did no new spirits have been brought to Prospit, that I know of. Old spirits can make new deals, but… it limits the choice, and sometimes there simply isn’t a spirit to suit whoever it is who comes asking. Sometimes spirits are also very possessive of their bonds… Karkat hasn’t let anyone else come close to making a deal with him since he bound to John, and I expect he won’t until long after John passes. Tavros was Jade’s- and he hasn’t taken anyone else either, though he’s content to occupy himself in other ways, and Aradia-”

Jake stopped, staring into his wine for a long moment with his brows furrowed, and Dirk had started to turn away before he spoke, not wanting to hear what was coming but already feeling the weight of it in his chest.

“Aradia only ever dealt with Dave.”

“And who dealt with _you?_ ” Dirk snapped, refusing to walk down the path that kept being shoved in front of him. “Who did you give _your_ blood to?”

“I- There were… different circumstances, I didn’t deal- I mean I likely _did,_ but not as you _think,_ not as anyone thinks or expects, or-” Jake paused, setting the goblet down and looking at his hands. “I don’t have a scar, I didn’t cut my palms, and I didn’t… She wasn’t a _spirit_ , not exactly.”

“Not a spirit? _Wonderful._ There’s _more_ things to make bargains with, how _delightful,_ because _one_ race of insane power-brokers wasn’t _enough._ ” With a contained huff of annoyance Dirk stalked back to his cot, settling on it with his back to Jake and downing the wine despite the burn in his throat. “Did you still make her wear one of those stupid hoods? Or are they just for _proper_ demons?”

“ _Dirk._ ”

“No, I- I have _abided_ all of this. I’ve fed you your damn meals, I’ve dressed you, I’ve put up with demons poking and prodding me like I’m meat and with everything I thought turning out to be a spectacular lie that had the sole aim of making me a punchline to a fucked up joke! If you think I’m going to bite my tongue over this because you wear some fancy-ass crown that doesn’t mean _shit_ to me, you’re _mistaken._ I was wrong about you and I admit that, I was wrong about a lot of things, but holy shit.” He set the goblet down heavily and raised his hands. “I am allowed to be _pissed_ about it, okay? If I claw one thing back from this mess, it’s the fact I’m going to be a bitter asshole and go down kicking and screaming.”

“I don’t understand you,” Jake answered, flatly. “You go from barely grunting to spitting out more words a second that I thought a mouth capable of making, and you switch at the drop of a hat.”

“What can I say? I’m an angry enigma. A raging rant stitched up in an iceberg whose hidden depths are usually stuck in frozen water but just _waiting_ for a meltdown to come on up and wash everyone’s asses out to sea.” Jake laughed and Dirk felt his cheeks go hot, his words stuttering before he pushed on. “You can pull your fancy words out and your weird as heck words too if you want but- but Derse missed out when it didn’t make me King, I tell you, my speeches would’ve lived in history.”

“Oh, I’m certain they would have. I could never have kept up.”

“Hear ye, hear ye, by royal decree all further state addresses will be delivered over a beat so the melodious skills in the royal voice can be most fully enjoyed and found suitably choice.” Dirk placed a hand to his chest and raised the other, rocking back up to his feet. “Henceforth in fact, from time to time, laws may be delivered only in the form of rhyme on such days as are to the Monarch’s preference, and should you fail to perform with versified deference the King reserves the right to throw out your regulation, and end your dictum not with his signature but with decapitation.”

“See? How would I ever have lived up to such a marvel?” Jake was smiling at him when Dirk turned, the heat out to the tips of his ears. He’d barely even really thought about being King, about anything he’d learned was meant to be his birthright, and the fact that the first he’d spoken of it was _this,_ was this mess of whatever the fuck had just poured out of his mouth-

Actually, it felt… good. He could laugh at that sort of thing, he could make it a joke, and jokes couldn’t hurt him, not like reality was trying to.

“You couldn’t, no way.” He spread his hands in a grand gesture, trying to look as regal as he could manage as he strode over. “We’d be hashing out an alliance and you’d be fumbling for even one quality rhyme because the King of the Moon or whatever stupid thing they’d call me, he wouldn’t have time for talking like _normal_ people. No, no, we’re royalty, it has to be _special._ ”

“Talking to you is certainly always an experience.”

“I live to please, your _Highness._ ”

“Well you’re far more pleasing when you let your hair down.”

“Shame it’s stuffed in a hood most of the time then, isn’t it?”

Jake paused, his smile freezing as he glanced at Dirk’s uniform and then up again, his eyes creasing as he ran his tongue over his lips before taking another long draught of wine.

“...It is a shame,” he murmured, and before Dirk could question the tone of voice he waved a hand around to catch a point, grasping it and pointing at Dirk’s chest. “You should take the evening off, but do me a favour first.”

“I didn’t even know I could _have_ time off.”

“You can’t.” Jake grinned at a private joke, eyes flitting away. “Go see John. I know you haven’t been back down there and I know it’s a miserable hole, but… A lot of people are going to tell you things about your brother and you’re going to hate most of them, but John knew him better than any of us, and a _lot_ better than _Vriska_ did. Maybe it’s time for you to learn something about him that isn’t horrifying to your Dersite sensibilities, hm?”

Dirk hesitated, uncertain what to make of the kindness. There had to be a catch- there was _always_ a catch, but this time he might willingly take the blow.

“Will anyone try to stop me on the way there?”

“Not likely, mate. They’d have me to answer to if they did, and I can be a handful when I want to be.” Jake nodded to the cot. “Mask, though. Let’s not have you stumbling into someone who can raise hell for both of us, not yet. I have a gala to organise first, I’d rather do that without those kind of concerns hanging over my head.”

“All on your own terms, obviously,” Dirk rubbed his jaw while he still could, but the point was sound, and after a moment he went to collect his so recently abandoned mask and fix it into place.

“Obviously. There are _some_ benefits to being King.”

Dirk fixed the jewels into the fabric of his hood, drawing in a long breath to remind himself it was easy to breathe when his throat grew tight at the covering. He thought of the jokes before, how easy it had been to laugh; and then he thought of the truth beneath them, of a crown he’d seen a thousand times that would have been proudly his in another life.

“...Maybe one day I’ll learn them for myself.”

Jake nodded, though he didn’t smile this time, turning to pour himself more wine. “...Spirits willing, it’ll be sooner than later.”

That seemed final, and Dirk took it as time to leave, though he paused at the door and glanced back when an unexpected concern flowered in his mind and took root before he could cut it back. It was stupid of him to even think it, surely, but it didn’t make it any easier to ignore, and after tapping his fingers lightly against the wood he sighed and turned.

“Are you sure you won’t need anything?” He regretted asking as soon as it was out. Jake raised an eyebrow at him, and Dirk’s cheeks answered with traitorous shame, his shoulders going tense. “You gave me a job, I may as well try and actually do it.”

“...I’m sure I’ll be fine, Dirk. Your concern is... noted.”

“It isn’t _concern_ , it’s…”

“Pride?” Jake nodded slowly. “A shame, concern would’ve suited you better.”

Dirk took his leave before his mood could sour, and tried not to let the words stick in his mind.

 

 

The journey back down the rough steps to John’s cavern felt shorter the second time, though Dirk suspected it was only because he was too wrapped up in his thoughts without others around him to hold his attention. He’d been expecting a rush of ash and heat to come and keep him company, but Karkat didn’t appear; instead Dirk ran through what he had learned from Jake and the possibilities it opened, the facts that he was refusing to openly acknowledge begging for a _why,_ a _reason_ behind what felt like an irrational choice.

_You’re bringing a blade to a fight between Gods,_ Vriska had mocked him, and he had thought it nothing but a cheap attempt at manipulation. Now, though… If deals gave magic, it was ludicrous to think the Empress wouldn’t have made one, and if whatever Dave had done wasn’t enough to beat her, what use _was_ a man with unmarked palms and a borrowed knife?

Optimism was far easier when he had less of the facts.

Reality caught up with him when he reached the archway, hesitating as fresh air curled past him and warned of the powers at play beneath the ground. The first displays he'd seen, the mists that answered John’s fury and the light that traded secrets with something down in the dark, they'd weighed on his mind almost as much as Jake’s constant wonders, magic that felt like it had a _weight_ behind it beyond what Dirk had seen.

The Mad King of Prospit, obsessing in the shadows, who'd known his face the instant he saw half of it and promised to kill the Empress for trying to harm him.

_John_ , who he remembered laughing with his brother, crouching down to mess up his hair with a smile fittingly bright as the sun.

Dirk steadied his nerves, and slipped through to the plateau, already lowering his mask as the walls gave way to empty space around him.

He was less surprised than he should have been to find it apparently empty, though after his eyes adjusted he found what seemed to be a bridge of mist that led off into the dark. A tentative touch proved whatever it was and wherever it led it wasn't going to act as anything more than empty air for him, and he sighed, glancing around at the small collection of furniture that served as John’s home.

The desk caught his attention quickly, laden with new papers and old ones he recognised from the brief snatches of them as John had shuffled and searched. Dirk glanced carefully out at the darkness beyond the bridge, then quietly slipped over, running his fingers over the edge of the fine wood before he let them drift up to guide his eyes from line to line of neat handwriting, broken by messier afterthoughts and sometimes long, capitalised complaints, now and then breaking down entirely into something more like a direct conversation.

lalonde might know something?  
SHE’S COMPROMISED AND YOU KNOW IT.  
yeah, maybe.  
maybe as in probably  
okay yeah, that’s a bad idea.  
have you spoken to another seer?  
TEREZI ISN’T TALKING TO ME AND KANKRI CAN GO FUCK HIMSELF.  
we might need him  
WELL THAT’S JUST FUCKING DANDY.  
CAN THE ALMIGHTY DENIZEN NOT GIVE US SOMETHING OR AM I ONCE AGAIN GOING TO HAVE TO SAVE YOUR ASS BY SUFFERING THROUGH WHATEVER PREACHING BULLSHIT A SINGLE USEFUL FACT IS WRAPPED IN?  
denizen has nothing  
sorry, for now you'll have to suffer.  
i’ll try again later!

He flipped through a few more pages, then let them settle, a lot of talking about how to gain information but very little _of_ it. The references to whatever was known were vague, purposefully omitted so someone reading couldn't gain anything useful from the text, and Dirk snorted softly at the fact it was an efficient system that his own disappointment proved was effective.

Why did they write _these_ conversations down, though? Couldn't Karkat and John just… talk?

He moved onto a list of names, some of which he knew, probably a record of the spirits still wandering the Palace. There were less than he'd expected, but more than he'd like, and a few crossed out between them. The name from the other notes, Kankri, was scored through with an added GOOD RIDDANCE; it was clearly Karkat’s writing, from the tone alone, and knowing he wrote as he spoke was amusing in a way Dirk couldn't quite place.

He started from the beginning. Karkat’s own name was there, and Vriska, Terezi, a Kanaya Dirk hadn’t met and Tavros who he’d heard of without seeing. After them a few were crossed out, Sollux and Feferi and two names scratched out so completely Dirk couldn’t make them out; then others, Equius and Nepeta- he’d heard that name before, he’d thought she was just one of the hunters who dragged beasts back to Tavros’ forest but now he supposed he knew better- and-

Aradia.

He paused there, looked the name over again, reaching out to run his finger over the shape of the letters where the pen had left their imprints stained in ink. There were more names after- he’d glimpsed Aranea and Meenah close to Karkat’s scrawled remark- but he got no further than the name that held too many weighted questions in its plainly written letters. Jake had spoken it, and if Vriska had been honest in her offering, it was likely Dirk had already glimpsed the spirit’s smile in a memory forced between his thoughts. This was the one his brother had spilled blood for, but for _what?_

“It’s not polite to look through people’s things,” John said behind him, and Dirk shoved the paper away quickly, turning to find its owner watching him with more amusement than annoyance. John raised a hand to clench it into a fist and the mist poured into to fill the gap the bridge had been in, the whole thing turning back to shapeless clouds and nothingness while John moved over and carefully rearranged the papers Dirk had left out of place, humming to himself as he did it. “You’re lucky I’m in good spirits! Just don’t do it again, okay?”

“Uh.” Dirk expected it to hit like a threat but it just sounded like fatherly disappointment, which was strange in an entirely new way he tried not to think about too hard. “Sure. I mean- I won’t. Sorry.”

“Did you come all the way down here just to mess with my stuff?” John wiggled a finger at nothing and the air shaped and shifted around them, lifting a crystal decanter on a far table and filling a cup that swept neatly over into John’s hand. Dirk watched it with a diminished sense of wonder; something else tinted his view.

“How… How do you do that? And don’t say _magic,_ ” he added as John opened his mouth, “I mean. Jake said it’s always… one thing, and branches. What’s your _thing?_ Or is it rude to ask that, am I committing some simply _dreadful_ Prospitan faux pas? _He asked me what my thing was, can you believe it! He may as well have asked me to whip out my dick!_ ”

“It’s not rude to ask, but some people might sniff at you for it.” John grinned, letting go of the cup so it hovered and moving his fingers to make it bob and sway between them like it was floating on a tide. He cleared his throat, continuing in a huffy, high-pitched mockery of a noble accent, “ _good heavens, one’s deal is private to oneself! Snotty little boy asking after information like a spy._ ”

“Well the snotty little boy is just trying to learn a whole new rulebook.”

“He wouldn’t have to if Derse wasn’t so dumb about everything. It _is_ still dumb, right?” John left the cup spinning over one of his fingers, putting his other hand on his hip. “Hand down someone’s pants in a bar and nobody blinks as long as you don’t have gloves on, but say _I love you_ in a public place and everyone is simply _scandalised?_ ”

“That sounds about right,” Dirk conceded.

“And _we’re_ the weird ones. _Sure._ ”

“Hey, you’re the only one in this whole palace who doesn’t look like the bastard child of a patchwork quilt and an erotic dancer.” He gestured accusingly down himself. “Look at this! What _is_ this? And every time I see something new it hurts my eyes. Ladies looking like tiered cakes? _Check._ Men with face paint from a child’s scribbling? _Check._ Enough clashing colours only the blind can walk the halls without a headache? _Double check._ ”

“Oh, _right_!” John swept his cup up his arm and over his shoulders, down to rest above his other hand. “I forgot we’re only allowed three whole colours in our outfits!”

“We wear more than three colours!”

“ _Shades_ of purple _don’t count._ ”

Dirk frowned, hesitating. “...Well at least we wear three _good_ colours.”

“ _Uh huh._ ”

John dropped his hand completely and the cup lingered in the air, bobbing a little when he tapped it a moment later. He nudged it forward and it floated across the short space between them, waiting patiently in front of Dirk until he reached up and took it, the weight pressing into his palms once they were securely wrapped around it.

“It’s not as simple as it looks. I don’t even know if it _does_ look simple to you, but most people used to think I had really boring powers, just… windy stuff. But it isn’t the wind. They learned that the hard way.” John considered his own hands, then shook his head, clearing the frown that had tugged at his lips. “My _thing_ is spirits, but not like Karkat and the others. They’re sort of… the _lords_ of the spirit realm, the big powerful ones, but there’s all sorts of boring smaller ones that no one pays any attention to. My thing is paying attention, and because I do, they listen to me! Some of them people call elementals, and some people don’t have names for, and… my _real_ thing, my _big_ thing, is ghosts.”

“Ghosts,” Dirk repeated flatly.

“ _Ghosts_.” John nodded. “I mean, you didn’t think spirits came from nowhere, did you? They were all _somebody,_ once, and what Karkat gave _me_ was the power to talk to them. Sometimes that means asking them to do things like carry my stuff, or take messages for me, or hold me up and help me fly! Other times it just means talking, and finding stuff out, and in return I help Karkat find strong ghosts to turn into more powerful spirits because that’s kinda his _thing._ ”

It was easy to make the connection, the leap, hope fluttering in Dirk’s chest inside a tight cage of restraint as he refused to let optimism set him him up for disappointment. He had to ask, though, faltering before he looked to John and searched for the right words.

“I can’t summon him,” John said before Dirk could find them. “I’ve tried. A lot, actually! A lot.” His smile dropped, and he rubbed his hands together as he looked over the desk and all the papers over it. “I think maybe I’m doing it wrong, so, if I keep trying I’ll figure it out and do it right! And then he can come back and… and it’ll be better.”

“...Karkat said you were close.”

“We- were. He was my best friend.” He closed his eyes in the hitch, then opened his eyes and laughed, falsely bright. “But it’s okay! Death doesn’t have to be forever, it stopped meaning that to me, and I’ll work out what’s going wrong. I can still save him.” John blinked, fast, raising a hand to swipe his eyes before they betrayed him. “She doesn’t get to take him away forever, I won’t let her.”

“Is there…” Dirk reached, hesitating a moment from touching John’s arm, remembering the way Prospitan’s were and hating that it made him doubt such a small thing. “Is there anything I can do?”

John just breathed, until his shoulders were steady and he could lift his head to look at Dirk. “If I ever think of anything I’ll ask you. I promise.”

“Okay.” His hand dropped. “Thank you.”

“I wasn’t actually sure I’d see you again! I know it’s not that’s homely down here, and that I’m probably not your favourite person. I’m not that popular in Derse, right?” John messed his own hair up with his fingertips as he looked away, the cup rising out of Dirk’s hand with a jerk and returning to tip up against John’s lips so he could drink. “It’s for good reason, you know? It’s fair. But you’re not one of her lackeys, you’re not here to hurt anyone, I really believe you’re not! So we’re okay. We’re okay, and I’ll… I’ll do what I can to help you.”

Dirk watched him warily, worries threatening to reappear and sew his lips shut; but in the end he forced them aside, speaking levelly instead. “Jake sent me down here to talk about Dave.”

“Oh.” John glanced at him. “Sure, I could talk about Dave! But… aren’t you kind of tired of that?” Dirk blinked, and John laughed and hunched his shoulders up nervously. “Like… Isn’t _everyone_ talking about Dave to you? Because that’s all they know about. Dave and filling in what you’re messing up because you’re from Derse and Derse is _weird._ Wouldn’t you rather talk about _you_ or something?”

“There isn’t much to say about me,” Dirk said slowly, but it didn’t seem to dissuade John’s increasingly attentive expression.

“Sure there is! There’s always stuff to say.”

“What would you even want to know?”

“Well… What’s your favourite colour? What do you like to do for fun? What music do you like? Do you play an instrument?” John caught the cup and wiggled it at Dirk’s surprised expression. “Do you read? What do you read? I saw some of the doodles you left on the notes you transcribed for Jake, and they were really good! How long have you been drawing? Did you ever draw the Empress all _bluh_? Should you? The answer to that one is yes, by the way.”

“I don’t-” Dirk held up his hands to stop him. “Why would you care about that sort of shit?”

“Uh. Because that’s how you get to know someone, Dirk, and it’d be cool to actually get to know you instead of just smiling politely at each other and being all _strictly business._ ” John rolled his eyes. “I’m not King anymore, and I’m not an asshole! At least, not _all_ the time. Besides, I always wanted to know you. Dave was always talking about you.” He paused, voice softer as he ran his gloved hands together, feeling down his fingers. “I thought I’d lost the chance, but now you’re here. Why would I waste that?”

The sentiment caught Dirk off-guard, the reasons behind it even more so. He tried to think of a reply but none would form, and in the end it was John who was left to fill the silence, releasing the cup and watching it set down on the desk.

“He used to send me missives when he wasn’t here, and I used to send him them back. You were basically his kid, he was so much older and your parents- Yeah. It was about the time I had Jane, too! So we used to write about you guys learning to walk and talk and being brats and share how we were coping, and then when we met up we’d talk about the day you’d both be old enough to travel with us, and if you’d be friends.” The mist shifted, curling closer. “There was Jane and Jake, and you, and Roxy, and we used to laugh about you all being like we were- all of us did. It would be funny, right? Our kids ending up as tight as we were! Or- Our kids and brother, but whatever, you totally counted.”

“Roxy?” Dirk held to it, something he recognised. “I know a Roxy.”

“And a Rose, right?” John’s eyes brightened. “Lalonde?”

“...They’re too low caste to have a family name.” It felt strange even as he said it, a tradition he hadn’t questioned that felt wrong after only a week in a place your bloodline wasn’t a luxury to be taken away. “But- maybe.”

“Rose was a friend, she used to live here, worked for my mother, but after your parents were killed she went back to Derse to try to help Dave get things under control.” John shook his head. “It didn’t work out that way.”

“The Empress keeps her around, but I don’t know what days were Rose and what days were something else wearing her face. Roxy does, uh, _work_ for the Empress, stealing shit mostly, and because she does it well she was always treated pretty good, considering.”

“What did you do?”

“What?”

“What did _you_ do for the Empress?” John focused on him again, blue eyes sweeping over him as the air fell still around them, deathly quiet. “She wouldn’t have just had you sitting around, but I don’t think she would’ve trusted anyone else to keep an eye on you, either. Your family were always a thorn in her side, or a sword in her chest, or whatever metaphor fits here! So what did you _do?_ ”

Dirk felt as though he were shrinking under the piercing light that guttered strangely in John’s eyes like a candle struggling to life. There at last was the threat he’d been waiting for, sharp and silent, the whole cavern waiting with bated breath for him to make a misjudgement and trip into a trap.

“I don’t know what it was like when you knew Derse,” he said as patiently as he could, burying the anxiety beneath conviction, “but coin isn’t worth much to the rich, and with the taxes she takes for no reason the Empress has enough in her treasury to drown the city in. She refuses to give it out, too, so… She pays for services and favours with other things.”

“You delivered those payments?”

Dirk stared at nothing, eyes sliding out of focus into a memory.

“No. No, I… I was the payment, usually.” He ignored John’s reaction, the jerk-back in the corner of his gaze, continuing quite placidly, “sometimes I had to kill someone they wanted dead in the arena, and everyone would turn out to watch me fight with their sign on my armour; sometimes I had to dress up and go to some stupid event with them and everyone would know they held the Empress’ favour because her- her pet was there at their feet. And sometimes they just wanted me, and they had me; and I didn’t bite and I didn’t argue, and that’s how I survived.”

“That’s awful,” John said when the silence grew too loud. Dirk shook his head.

“It’s all I’d ever known. The only reason I knew it was wrong was Rose- She would tell me I deserved better, and _why_ I should be angry, why I should despise it, and so I _did_ ; I used to think it was because she cared about me.” He laughed. “I wonder if she taught me to have my own pride so the Empress could see the hatred in my eyes every time she had _work_ for me. It wouldn’t do to let me become complacent, or comfortable, would it? It’s not a punishment without suffering.”

“Rose cares about you,” John said firmly, but it drained almost instantly. “I... I didn’t think Derse was that bad. You kept defending it, so I figured-”

“No matter what it’s like, it’s home.” Dirk focused again, leaving his thought behind to speak with a resolve he’d thought he might be losing. “It isn’t perfect, it isn’t always great, but the people don’t make it that way and they’re trying their best to make the most of what they’re given. My life wasn’t easy but I’m _alive,_ and still fighting, and someday the Empress will be dead and even if I didn’t owe it to my brother to see that through- Derse is _home,_ and I won’t abandon it, not even after all she’s done.”

A smile crept over John’s face as he spoke, and when it was over, John reached and nudged Dirk’s shoulder with his knuckles, a little knock that had a touch of pride to it. “...You’d make a good King.”

“No, nah. Nope.” Dirk laughed, even as his cheeks burned and he quickly looked away. “I didn’t even make it rhyme, it doesn’t count.”

“You do the stupid rhyming thing too?”

“It’s not _stupid_ ,” Dirk said first, and then stopped. “... _Too?_ ”

“Well, yeah! Dave used to do it, and so did his- _your-_ Dad, and it was super dumb! They called it, uh- Slam poetry! _Slam poetry,_ that’s it, and it was the _stupidest thing,_ but that never stopped them.” John snorted, shaking his head and not catching Dirk’s expression. “It was kinda cool though, if by _cool_ you mean _lame,_ and by _kinda_ you mean _very._ I’m surprised you remembered about it!”

“I didn’t.” He _didn’t,_ even if had been one of his few harbours in a storm, a soft beat below his breath to keep him sane when his thoughts pressed in or too many people flocked around him; a line dropped beside a fireplace to make Roxy snort at him and swat at his face, rhymes hidden in plain sentences in a game to poke fun at those around him without risk.

But none of it was because he _remembered._ He had learned, from a patient voice that spoke clearly, and wrapped every delicate syllable in a smile.

“Rose… Rose taught me.”

He said it like it meant something, and John’s smile said he understood.

“See?” John murmured. “I told you she cared about you. Before everything got messy, she used to be like that for all of us, she used to look out for us but in all these ways you didn’t even notice until later, when you figured out she’d done just what you needed to see you through! Jade was the one who would shake you to your senses or yell at you about how great you were, and Dave mumbled under his breath a lot and said things that didn’t make much sense? But that was way more important than it sounds, it really was. You never know the value of stupid metaphors until they’re gone.”

“Do you miss them? Rose and- Jade?”

“All the time. I thought it’d go away? But it didn’t. I still feel like they’ll turn back up any minute and it’s been twenty years.” He rolled his eyes at himself, expression drawn thin despite the gesture, and waved a hand out at the nothing beyond the island of rock. “I asked Jade to come back, but she doesn’t want to, she said I had to grow up first and that she’d know when it was time but it hasn’t ever been time and it’s starting to feel like it never will be! And Rose is way, _way_ out of reach and anytime I try to talk to her I just end up with a headache and a nosebleed so that’s not something that’s happening anytime soon! So…” He spread his fingers, mist wrapping around them in the image of a hand that quickly fell apart and dropped in lazy curls around his wrist. “Dave was the one I could get back, maybe, if I tried, and if Dave came back- Maybe then Jade would, too, and we could save Rose, and it’d be like it used to be! Just with more grey hair, and weird old person skin, even if I’m not _that_ old it’s just being King is super stressful and at least I still _have_ hair instead of going bald or something! I looked better with a moustache, though. Karkat shouldn’t have burned off my moustache.”

“How old _are_ you?”

“It’s rude to ask.”

“I’m going to assume sixty if you don’t tell me.”

“ _Hey!_ I don’t look sixty! Do I?” John touched his cheeks, aghast. “Don’t tell me I look _that_ old? I’m forty four, okay? But I’ll be forty five soon. That isn’t- I’m not _sixty._ ” He huffed. “The _nerve._ ”

“What can I say?” Dirk rolled back onto his heels and fluttered his lashes. “I _am_ a snotty little boy.”

John snorted, stifling a laugh into the back of his hand and grinning when he dropped it. “Have you spoken much to Jane? Because you should. You didn’t get to grow up together like I hoped, but you’d be great friends! I know you would. She has a terrible sense of humour too, and that’s even _worse_ because she should’ve learned from the _best._ ” He dropped his voice conspiratorially. “I am the best, in case you were wondering. The master. It’s me.”

“The master who lives in a cave like some wise old sage.” Dirk looked around, up towards the vast ceiling. “You ever leave this, uh, _delightful_ abode?”

“Not really. It’s better than it looks! And I have plenty of company.”

“Right, right, dead people and grouches and the _Denizen._ Sounds like a riot.”

John’s smile faltered, his eyebrows pinching together. “Someone spoke to you about the Denizen?”

“I mean, I heard you talk about it, and then Karkat gave me the spooky _you don’t want me to answer that_ about it, so I figure you’ve got some monster out there somewhere that drives people crazy but maybe you’re just crazy enough already it doesn’t matter.” Dirk paused. “Am I close?”

“You’re… wow. Spot on, champ.”

“So nowhere near?”

“No. Except for me maybe being crazy enough I can handle it. That part’s probably true!” John’s gaze flicked back and forth, rapid enough it was almost missable but Dirk caught it, tucking the nervous flinch away to be considered later, along with everything else. “Just something I’m trying to fix! I, uh, I do that a lot nowadays, I guess. Maybe once I’ve worked it out I can… I can explain.”

“But not now?”

“I think that wouldn’t do anyone any good.” Somewhere in the distance, a baleful rumble sounded, low and long, too strange for Dirk to know if it came from a beast or just from the movements of the air. “I don’t think anyone else needs that on their shoulders. Especially not- you.”

Dirk raised an eyebrow and John shrugged, flapping his hand dismissively. “You’re already going through a lot, okay? I don’t want to be the asshole who adds a block of stone and breaks your back.”

“My back is stronger than it looks.”

“Yeah, well, I thought that when I was your age too, and then my block of stone hit and I found out I wasn’t as ready as I thought.” John’s face was solemn, his voice flat and earnest. “There are some things no one should have to go through, Dirk, but if someone _has_ to, then it may as well be me.”

The mists curled in the darkness as the moaning faded, the chamber falling into an earthy quiet that carried that dream of a summer day in every breath, and memories of the dead in every breeze. They stood and watched nothing, and Dirk fell back among his thoughts; he thought of Rose, and Roxy, and wondered if they thought him dead. He thought of the Empress sitting on her gilded throne, and all he could find to care about was if she had found someone else to pay favours with in his place.

And then he thought of Karkat scaring him once, comforting him now, and John laughing, and of a life he could’ve had where he wasn’t a stranger to Jake, or to Jane.

“Orange. And red.”

John glanced at him, questioning, and Dirk did his best not to shrink under the gaze and push on instead. “They never really showed up anywhere, they’re the colours of the Sun, but I always liked them. Maybe because of the whole…” He gestured at his face. “Or maybe it was just because the Empress hated them. But Roxy used to steal fabric for me, and we’d make clothes together to dress up in when we were alone, all the banned colours, all the things the Empress thought were treason. Rose knit me a scarf with a yellow sun on it once, and I hid in inside my pillowcase and it was rebellion, I guess.”

“...My favourite’s green.” John smiled hopefully. “Everyone always thought it was blue, but that’s only because it was _really_ hard to get green dye after one incident with a fire and some explosive soap that was _nobody’s fault_ except maybe mine, so I got stuck wearing blue for years and people figured wow, that guy, he must _love_ blue! But really I just thought everyone dressing up the same was boring, and I wanted to look different, so when green was a tragic victim of a mistimed prank, blue had to do!”

“Explosive soap?”

“Mistakes were made, lessons were learned.”

Dirk chuckled and bowed his head, trying to imagine the events that would have possibly led to that and knowing whatever the truth was, it was probably worse than anything he could concoct himself.

“...So what did you do for fun?” John nudged him. “Other than play dress up?”

“Derse has a lot of rooftops, and they’re very close together, and if you climb up one place you can get to the other side of the city without touching the ground once. Roxy used to race me, or we’d find somewhere to sit and make up new constellations because the Empress made all these fish ones that sucked.”

“Don’t let Meenah hear you say something like that!”

“Fish suck. End of story. I have spent way too long living in a place I’m pretty sure would be underwater if the Empress could pull it off to cut fish any slack at this point. She put one on her coat of arms. A _fish._ Who _does_ that?”

“Someone who really likes fish, I guess? Feferi liked fish too.” John stared into the distance, shaking his head. “There was this whole, like… section of spirits who had an underwater thing going, I think the people who made deals with them made it this whole religion. There were rituals. Something about cuttlefish.”

“Okay, well, we never had the cuttlefish thing.”

“That _might_ have just been Feferi. She was… pretty weird, in the same way a baby kitten is cute but when you get it wet suddenly it looks like a tiny spiky monster with bug eyes and the cute mewling is like some weird high-pitched banshee noise and you’re like wow how did _this_ thing get into my house and why did I think it was adorable? But then you dry it off and oh yeah! It’s still cute. You still love it.”

“Uh.”

“Haha, oh wow, I… I have no idea what that was. I’d say I’d spent too much time with Dave, but!” John’s smile turned strained. “That’s like the opposite of the problem.”

Dirk nodded slowly, turning his gaze into the dark as he let his hopes run wild for a brief instant that burnt in his chest before he snuffed it out. He couldn’t miss something he’d never known. Rose had taught him that early, and he’d started to forget; but here, he held faster to it than ever before. His hopes couldn’t be crushed if he didn’t get them up, and he wasn’t about to put all his faith in things he didn’t understand, not beyond what he’d already been forced to do.

But it was hard to extinguish the light of it completely. A candle guttered, and came to life, and burned somewhere secret and deep.

“Do you really think Jane would like me?” Dirk asked instead, and John beamed, the moment of upset completely forgotten.

“Jane would love you,” he promised brightly, and Dirk decided if he was going to believe in anything, it may as well be that.

 

 

It was a few days before he worked up the courage to ask Jake to give him leave to retrace the steps he had only walked in a drugged haze once before, but the request was granted with a bemused smirk as Jake continued to pour over papers regarding the gala he’d apparently decided not to explain to Dirk in the slightest, Dirk’s casual questions on the topic met by grins and a wry _you’ll see._ It wasn’t like Dirk hadn’t been to dances before, albeit leashed and sometimes muzzled, but he would at least have liked some idea of what to brace himself for before he was dragged to this one.

Jake seemed set on not giving him any forewarning however, and Dirk had already reached the point he was just going to expect the worst and take whatever came his way.

This evening he’d shrugged it off and focused on his quest instead, padding past the guards who were beginning to recognise and smile at him when he passed them, and the servants who no longer giggled and whispered but had begun shyly waving and blushing when he raised a hand in return. The change had been rapid, and he suspected had involved whispered words and quiet suggestions of what would make him comfortable. He wasn’t sure if he should blame Jake or Karkat; he wasn’t sure which option he’d prefer.

Halfway to his goal he found a different sort of smile aimed at him, and paused in step at the sight of it. He hadn’t been cursed by Vriska’s presence since her first appearence, but there she was, sitting cross-legged on a wall in defiance of gravity and grinning at him with wicked light in her eyes. Aranea was chattering at her, ignoring him entirely, eyes shut and a hand up to gesture impressively along with her endless words; on the ceiling perched Meenah, scowling at her nails until she noticed Vriska’s expression and followed her gaze, her eyes lighting up at the sight of him. She hopped to her feet and her braids snapped out of whatever was holding her up, dropping to smack Aranea neatly in the face and ending the story that had been flowing unnoticed until then.

“ _Hey-_ ” Meenah and Vriska dropped to the floor, and he felt his eyes go wide and startled, no direction seeming a quick enough escape. Vriska bounded over first, clasping her hands. “You’re still here! I thought for sure you’d bolt.”

“Hey, hey, play nice, Serket.” Meenah grasped her shoulder and pushed her aside, smiling at him with a mouth full of serrated teeth. “It’d take more than a shrimp like _you_ to scare him off, I’d bet.”

“ _I_ wasn’t trying to _scare him off,_ I was trying to _help him_.” Vriska flipped her hair back, glaring sideways before she smiled at Dirk and gave him a little wave. “The offer’s still open, by the way.”

“Oh, you been making _offers?_ You want short and crabby coming after you?”

“Karkat wouldn’t touch me.”

“Nah, but he’d sure set little boy blue on you.”

Dirk started to edge sideways, slowly, cursing when Vriska flickered and reappeared beside him instead, leaning forward on empty air. “John wouldn’t hurt me! _Besides,_ it’s not like I could _actually_ offer unless we were _connected_ or whatever stupid bullshit controls that stuff!”

“It’s a matter of appropriate souls,” Aranea piped up behind them. “All souls have an affinity for certain things and we were chosen for our particularly strong affinities with the same domains, and a soul outside our domain would find a deal with us to be unsatisfactory at best, faulty at worst, which is _why_ there are people to _match_ correct pairings and ensure a bond that is strong, healthy, and-”

“Blah, blah, _blah,_ okay! _Okay_. I get it.” Vriska groaned. “You don’t _know_ we wouldn’t fit, anyway.”

“Actually-”

“ _I don’t care if you know._ Queen above. It was a _rhetorical question._ ”

“You know you could _learn_ something if you paid attention, Vriska! I do my best to teach you but you never seem to care! There’s a lot more to our positions than flaunting abilities and flirting with royalty! When we were raised- Have I told you that story recently? It’s one of my favourites. Maybe I should retell it for contextual accuracy in this debate!”

Vriska threw her head back and groaned again, turning towards Aranea. “ _Don’t you dare!_ ”

“It starts thousands of years ago,” Aranea explained cheerfully, ignoring the complaint, “with a brother and a sister.”

“Hey, boy.” Dirk jumped as Meenah spoke softly beside him, leaning over to whisper so he could hear. “You wanna get outta here?”

“Please,” he muttered back stiffly, watching Vriska claw at her own face as Aranea beamed and kept talking about the sun and moon. Meenah pat his back, and he felt a strange sensation like cold water splashing over his head; he shuddered and raised his hands to try to wipe it off, only to find no hands raised that he could see, and for a second he just stared in shock before Meenah nudged him again.

“Yo, this is the part where you run. It’ll wear off in a couple minutes, make sure you’re whale outta here before it does.” She paused, snickering. “ _Whale_.”

Dirk took that as the perfect moment to leave.

He didn’t slow down until warmth flooded down his back and he stumbled to a halt to shake off the unpleasant tingle it left, flexing his hands as they came back into view and peering back over his shoulder like Vriska might have followed him. The hall was blissfully empty, and with a relieved sigh he let himself relax against the wall, hesitating only when his mind began moving now his feet had stopped.

He’d taken help from a spirit without considering it. Had magic poured over him and not flinched.

Dirk stared at his palms and heard Vriska’s voice, the constant chorus, _bringing a blade-_ a blade in the place of something better, a weapon others had accepted before him, a weapon held by people he was beginning to find more than tolerable as stories fell to pieces and the truth shone through. A line across the palm and the world might bend to him whims; or he might raise the dead and keep their company, or heal with nothing but a touch.

He blinked, and the thoughts slipped away, sand in an hourglass, his fingers trembling as he curled them in and felt the taut pull of the glove around them.

_That’s the thing, about the light of the sun. It’s everywhere, it creeps up on you, and it’s warm and sweet and you don’t notice at first, but you’ll miss it when it’s gone._

Dirk put a hand to his head, trying to shake the voice away, a box coming unlocked and spilling back out across his thoughts.

_It’s not a matter of_ if _you let go of your convictions, I’m afraid._

The voice was old, but he hadn’t heard it. The words were in answer to a question he knew but hadn’t asked, from a pair of lips that had never belonged to him. There was a smile, broad and not his to remember; a hand on a narrower shoulder and eyes that were red beneath a silver crown.

_It’s a matter of_ when _._

“Okay! Okay I get it! _I get it!_ ” Dirk slammed his hand into the wall, gritting his teeth. “Whoever- Whoever’s _doing that,_ stop! I _get it, I get it!_ ”

The memory dissipated, falling to pieces around him as the image of eyes lingered, the red burning brighter and branding into his vision so vividly he could see an afterimage when he opened his eyes. He’d expected to see someone, _anyone,_ there and waiting- but he was alone, and as the memory slid back into the box he’d locked it up in, he had the horrible sensation of something else turning the key.

His thoughts were absent, instead of whispering their worries and fears in his ear. He swallowed hard, and refused to let himself choke on nothing, starting to walk again with stilted steps that gradually grew firmer and steady.

_It’s a matter of when,_ Moon be _damned,_ whatever was playing with him wasn’t even being subtle anymore. He’d spent enough sleepless nights considering it since his talk with Jake; but his own mind seemed to be betraying him, reminding him his insistence it was just idle fancy was ignoring his own need to have whatever he needed to put the Empress in her place.

How could he be sure he’d be given enough? Hah! Because he _knew_ he was too proud to consider the possibility his fate _wasn’t_ to kill her. Because this was a game and he was a piece and he _knew_ what his life had built towards.

And here was the watershed, golden with sunlight.

_Not yet,_ he told himself, angry and bitter. _Not yet._

He could survive still, without it, he had to. He would last as long as fate would let him, and when he downed the poison, sugarless and foul, he’d do it with forced hands and all other doors closed to him by locks his hands couldn’t tear apart. It was useful, fine! It would be an advantage that his tactical nature couldn’t ignore, _certainly._ Yet he wouldn’t let himself taint his own thoughts so easily, wouldn’t falter in his denial, not until he had to. He hadn’t spent his life loathing magic and demons to turn so easily at simple wonders and the unfulfilled promise of the dead come to life!

Not yet.

His mood stayed sour for the rest of the walk, and he would have considered turning back if not for the knowledge that the broken-eyed spirits were lurking somewhere on the way between him and Jake’s rooms. Instead, he did his best to apply a veneer of casual calm, making his way up the stairs when he finally reached them and pausing long enough to gather himself outside Jane’s door.

She opened it before he finished knocking a beat, his fist frozen in the air as her irritated expression gave way to surprise.

“Oh! Dirk! Does Jake want something?”

“...No, I was actually hoping I could talk to you.” He flinched at her disbelieving expression, grimacing beneath his mask. “Listen I know you don’t like me, but I’m kinda here for the long haul and John thinks we should get to know each other, and given he’s… not what I expected, and Karkat’s been pretty chill and everything, who knows, maybe he’s right. I’m ready to be surprised again.”

Jane puckered her lips up one way, then the other, observing him closely before she tutted and opened the door completely. Dirk took one step and then froze, feeling his demeanour waver.

“Aren’t you lucky you just _happen_ to be the exact fellow we were discussing,” Jane told him sweetly, and Terezi cackled where she was perched on Jane’s bed, her hood down and her silver hands uncovered, curled around her own ankles.

“Strider Two! Come on in, have a seat, we could use your expert testimony.” She blinked her awful red eyes, tongue hanging out over her teeth as she grinned. “Don’t worry, Vriska isn’t here to mess with you this time. And I won’t drink your blood! _Maybe._ ”

“I- I know Vriska’s not-” He stopped and groaned inwardly at himself, refusing to do this. He’d had their magic on him not thirty minutes ago, Karkat was already dangerously close to being considered his _friend,_ and he really was done letting anything panic him that he could face calmly. “She’s getting her ears talked off by Aranea. I would’ve been too if Meenah didn’t take pity on me.”

“She deserves it!” Terezi pat the bed, and after considering all the terrible decisions that had led him to this point, Dirk moved forward, sitting beside her. “Vriska’s not as bad as she acts! Eh, who am I kidding, she’s _just_ as bad as she acts, but you get used to it!”

“I don’t know why she’s so set on me.” Dirk watched Jane shut the door and lock it, before she came and settled on a chair in front of them, folding her arms and tapping one delicate shoe against the ground.

“Oh! That’s simple.” Jane snorted. “Your brother was hot property when he was up for the taking, and Vriska was certain she’d get him after missing out on John. Aradia swooping in and bonding him instead was a _great_ affront, I’m sure.”

“She didn’t stop complaining for _years,_ ” Terezi added eagerly. “She didn’t get _anyone_ she wanted! It was hilarious.”

“...I thought you two were friends.” Dirk tensed as Terezi laughed, filling the room with the harsh sound.

“We are! But that doesn’t mean I have to be _nice._ Vriska will get what’s coming to her, and if that happens to be some lame courtier, _good!_ She can come down a notch and stop acting like the whole game hinges on her existence.”

“But speaking of the game,” Jane clapped her hands together to get their attention, smiling. For the first time since Dirk had met her, she looked happy and eager, a spark in her eyes that was fierce without magic to fuel it. “We were just discussing it! And you.”

“Should I be worried?” Dirk raised his eyebrows, glad she couldn’t see how pale his tense lips must be below the fabric.

“I don’t think so. While I had my suspicions, my reports suggest you’ve done nothing to support them, and you don’t exactly seem like you’d bide your time.”

“Your _reports._ ”

“Oh _please,_ as if _Jake_ could figure the game out all by himself! He deals with all the Kingly things, smiling for the public, and keeping everything running properly, and I deal with all the things that are too dirty for him to dip his hands into.” She beamed. “It’s quite thrilling working out each play! Which leads me to you, again! We’ve been trying to figure out what you were sent here to accomplish.”

“I assumed I was sent here to assassinate myself.”

“Ugh, _boring._ ” Terezi scoffed and jabbed his arm with her claws, not being kind enough to strike with anything but the point. “That’s _way_ too mundane for the Black Queen! She’s all… _manipulating._ ”

“I’m actually surprised she sent you at all.” Jane hummed thoughtfully. “My spies told me she was quite fond of you, inasmuch as she kept you on a short leash.”

He didn’t know what to fix on first. “Your spies?”

“Fingers in all the pies, Dirk, keep up if you want to get to know me, won’t you?” Jane tapped her lip and pouted, narrowing her eyes into empty space. “Perhaps your usefulness was at an end? Or someone forced her hand. Or maybe you’re a sleeper agent!”

“Can’t be,” Terezi interrupted. “Vriska told me there was nothing in his mind but what she put there, she was _very_ disappointed. She wanted a hanging.”

“No, _you_ wanted a hanging, _she_ just wanted senseless violence.”

“It’s a fair charge, your Honour.”

“So not a sleeper. Which does make sense- You were poisoned but not to death. It only damaged your mind, and if I hadn’t been about to clear it, you would have been left alive but a shell. What use is there in that?” Jane hummed again, looking him over. “A message? But to _who._ Empty, only father would have recognised you, and we wouldn’t have shown you to him!”

“One of us would’ve known him,” Terezi countered.

“One of _you…_ But which one would she have cared about?”

“Aradia?”

“Too obvious.”

“Vriska?”

“Too improbable.”

“ _Karkat._ ”

“Maybe.” Jane nodded curtly. “Karkat sees him, takes him to John. John reacts… and does what? He wouldn’t _actually_ have gone after her, he would’ve had more reason to stay where he _is_ , trying to fix a mind on top of everything else.”

“Maybe that’s what she wants?”

“She has that already.”

“Maybe she wanted to make sure.”

“I’m not sure she’d sacrifice something like Dirk for something so petty.”

Dirk closed his eyes and listened to them for a while, too fast to interrupt, practically finishing each other’s thoughts with ease as they traded suspicions. It was almost peaceful, honestly, the steady beat of words, until it stopped and he blinked, finding both of them looking at him curiously.

“What?” He glanced between them. “Did I miss something?”

“I _said,_ ” Jane repeated patiently, “why did my father send you up here?”

It felt rather foolish, then, trapped between their machinations and theories, and he couldn’t help it coming out in a rough mumble, too aware of himself and how ill he fit in the room. “He said you’d like me. There were mentions of friend feelings and shit. Something about us growing up together except we didn’t and he wanted us to make up lost time I guess? I don’t know. It made… It made more sense before I actually got here.”

“That _was_ something they used to talk about.” Terezi leaned back, uncrossing her legs and folding them one over the other instead. “The playpen from hell, when all you tiny wrigglers got together and learned how to human in a group.”

“Friendship takes more than my father’s blessing and old plans that never came together.”

“Well I didn’t come here to say let’s be friends and shake hands on it and that’s that,” Dirk said back. He shrugged mechanically, staring at the fascinating floor. “But that stuff doesn’t happen without a start, and, yeah. Someone has to start it. Ask about your favourite colour or something.”

“My favourite colour?” Jane repeated it slowly, and he thought she was about to make fun of him, but instead she laughed and smiled. “You really _have_ been talking to John, haven’t you? Trying to arrange friendly banter for me, is he? Goshdarnit, the old man’s been busy while I’ve been distracted. I’ll have to have you take him a cake in retaliation.”

“I’m sure he’ll be horrified.”

“Oh he will be! He will be.” Jane steepled her fingers in front of her lips, smiling wickedly. “It will be _delicious,_ and smell _wonderful,_ and he’ll suffer for his own foolish aversions!”

Dirk stared, until Terezi leaned over, speaking in a mock whisper.

“The joke _is_ , John hates cake.”

“Oh.” Dirk’s eyebrows twitched. “Hilarious.”

Terezi nodded as Jane hopped up and started gather paper and pens to start what appeared to be a recipe. “Humans are weird.”

“...Yeah, I’m… I’m starting to get that impression.”

“You get used to it,” she informed him, giving him a lazier fanged smile. “You get used to a _lot_ of things, eventually.”

He thought of stairs made out of paving stones, a man who could ignite in fear; a wind made out of dead whispers, a girl whose hands healed a poison mind.

He thought of Derse, and it seemed very far away.

“I’m starting to get that,” he repeated, and looked over as Jane brandished a recipe like a weapon, standing proud and triumphant with pen lifted high. The sparkle in her eyes was yet to dim, and her smile was only wider. In the moment she was young, and eager, and bright, no matter the colours she wore or the place she stood in, no matter her company or her schemes.

“Blue,” she said as she dropped her hands, and Dirk didn’t have to ask to understand, to catch the coy smile she aimed his way.

Her name was Jane, she liked puzzling out the games of others, and her favourite colour was _blue_.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next time on King of the Sun: A Gala happens. Shenanigans. Maybe... MURDER?
> 
> [Dramatic music plays]


	5. Moonrise

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> One day a year in Prospit, the fool is King, and today the fool is a Prince trapped in the wrong Kingdom- But Dirk has more on his mind that the weight around his temples. It's time to face what he wants, what he's willing to sacrifice, and what he'd do anything to save.
> 
> [TW Descriptions of Violence, Blood, Temporary Character Death]

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Some **major updates** today, cherubs.
> 
> I'm sticking with the long chapter format, which will mean at least a week between chapters will become the norm. This will let me tell a more involved story, and as this is the chapter things start to change gear, it felt like a good time to commit to that choice.
> 
> MORE EXCITINGLY, as I'm sure you can see, this fic is now **illustrated!** This is a collab between me and [Daca,](http://dacadaca.tumblr.com/) and we're both really excited to finally share it with you! I'm really excited to have Daca on-board and we've both been looking forward to collaborating on this for a while. The art is a joint endeavour, with Daca doing the sketch and colour planning and me lining and shading, and I hope you enjoy these additions to the story! And **this includes the previous chapters!** Go look!

 

_You know, this would be easier if you ever actually listened to me._

_And me, I mean, not some memory someone else forced into your head._

_Locking everything away is only going to work so long, you have to know that._

_One day you have to stop running, and figure out what you’re even running from._

_I know you can figure it out, I know you’re strong enough to do this._

 

_One of us has to be._

 

Red eyes jolted Dirk awake, the fading image of them blurring with every blink as his heaving breaths stuttered and steadied out, his fingers curled painfully tight into the blankets tangled around him. A different voice hung in his thoughts for a moment- One he’d _known,_ but that faded too fast for him to recall _how,_ a dream with razor-edges that left him feeling raw and open.

The feeling passed, and something receded. Dirk forced his eyes closed again and saw only darkness behind his eyelids, stained bloody amber by the sunlight that shone through.

Just a dream. Just a dream. He’d chant it like it was true and maybe it would be.

_Just a dream._

The belief slipped through his fingers and left only an ache behind.

“Oh _bugger_ this stupid bloody shirt-”

He frowned at Jake’s muttering, and it was a moment after he wondered why Jake was awake that it occurred to him to question why Jake was _dressing,_ a job Dirk did for him each morning with no complaints and gradually increasing efficiency. Though his abrupt awakening hadn’t quite shifted the sleep that was tugging at the edges of his awareness, Dirk yawned and forced himself back up, arching his back in a lazy stretch before he rubbed his eyes and blinked some of the weariness in them away.

“What time is it?”

“Four in the morning,” Jake answered without a pause. “You can sleep, the Gala doesn’t start for a few hours.”

“Then why are you up?” Dirk looked around until he found the water he left waiting each night, downing the glass to soothe the raspy throat each morning rewarded him with.

“I have things to attend to to prepare for the day.”

“Well so do I. I may as well get up and start on-”

“ _No._ ” Jake barked it, and as Dirk finally took hold of the edge of the bed to peer over it it was to Jake standing in silhouette at the window, a hand clapped over his mouth, most of him bare. Before Dirk’s eyes could adjust Jake shook his head at him. “No, you should sleep, you’ll need your energy.”

“That sounds foreboding.”

“ _Dirk-_ ” Jake stopped, starting again more pleadingly. “Just listen to me, alright? It’ll make sense later, I promise, but I want to do this right.”

“To do _this..?_ ”

“Yes, _this._ Now please, you have a few more hours to sleep yet and you’d best not waste a one.” He sighed. “I have a feeling it’s going to be a long day.”

Dirk blinked, still squinting against the light, before he groaned and let himself drop back onto the bed, not willing to argue against the offer of a chance to actually sleep in, no matter how curiosity urged him to stay up. When he first arrived he’d have leapt at the chance to prove there were schemes in play, the Jake was _up to something,_ that he couldn’t be trusted; now he _knew_ there were schemes, and _Jane_ was _always_ up to something, but he was beyond the point of picking at reasons not to trust them when living without the Empress heavy influence draped all over his life was such a revelation.

And the Gala was today.

The Wards would be lowered after that, and then… Well. He couldn’t promise he’d still be here, come tomorrow.

The thought of the places he might go lulled him back into a dreamless sleep, keeping down the guilty edge he didn’t want to consider the source of. He wasn’t abandoning anything by leaving, after all, this was always just a disguise until things were safer, until the city was easier to leave. What he did then was for no one but himself, and they had to have known that when they made their plans to hide him!

And thoughts of the people who greeted him with smiles and chatter and made the cold halls here fill with life and warmth- They had no place in his plans, there were a distraction, just like people always were.

Just like Rose had been, and probably Roxy, and each time the Empress had smiled and told him she was-

That _he-_

The thought wouldn’t connect. Something skittered; a shadow twitched agitatedly around the back of his thoughts. He had barely felt it before it surged forward, grasping at his waking mind and almost catching him before he came awake with the feeling of falling for the second time in one morning.

Dirk stared at the ceiling, panting like he’d fled a real monster on foot, and curled his lip at himself as he raised his head enough to smack it down against his pillow with a regrettably painless _thwump_.

Terezi had said Vriska found nothing in his mind, he reminded himself firmly, and then countered it instantly with the fact Vriska might have _lied_ , that he couldn’t predict the intentions of a woman who would threaten to tear his guts out and make a scarf from them one day then greet him with a smile and useful advice about his duties the next. She could have lied, she might have found whatever it was that had shoved her memory at him once and was growing more vocal with each passing day, more restless and defiant, and thought it would be fun to watch him tear himself apart, or maybe even to let him carry out some secret mission he didn’t even _know,_ some instruction buried in him just waiting to take control and ruin everything-

Or she might have told the truth entirely.

_Nothing but what she put there._

Dirk dragged the pillow out from under his head, covered his face with it, and screamed.

“...Are you alright?”

So Jake hadn’t left the room in however long it had been. That would have been more useful to know a few moments ago but Dirk just pressed the pillow harder to his face and raised his hand positively, listening to the silence drag before he groaned and pulled his pillow down, staring up at nothing and hugging it to his chest instead.

“Karkat suggested it. When I start to overthink or freak out he said why not just shove your face into something and scream, it’s what I always do! And it fucking _works_ and that’s the stupidest part.” He glared quietly at the beams across the ceiling, following each one with his eyes in turn to give him something to focus on that wasn’t the fading panic. “I didn’t think you were still here or I’d have played it down more.”

“Where else would I be?”

“Getting ready for the Gala or whatever else…”

Dirk’s voice stopped working as he finally sat up and looked at Jake, the sun now brighter in the room and the drapes fixed open, the larger bed already made and clothes set out over it. Jake was attempting to finish setting a breakfast into a much prettier spread, and Dirk would have been more inclined to laugh if he wasn’t fixed on the jacket over his shoulders, hood hanging down his back, familiar and baring.

“Why,” Dirk said when his mind decided to continue working, “are you wearing my clothes.”

“I’m not wearing your clothes,” Jake answered with a hum. “They wouldn’t fit me! And dang, you weren’t kidding about this stuff being a bit clingy as is, I’d hate to think how I’d look in a set as small as yours.”

“Jake.”

“I had clothes done up for you though, don’t worry, made sure they’ll fit instead of you swanning around inside a shirt that’d do you for a tent. They’ll be a little loose probably, but after wearing this malarkey I’m sure you’ll find it a pleasant respite!”

“ _Jake._ ”

“Yes, your Highness?”

Dirk had opened his mouth to reply but once again his thought derailed into confusion, the gears barely starting to grind again before Jake had turned with the tray in his hands and moved over to set in in Dirk’s lap. It was very clearly Jake’s usual meal and Dirk gazed at it, looking for answers among the eggs and bread before he pressed a hand to his own cheek.

“...So, I’m not sure what under the Moon is happening, but man if you think anyone is going to actually mistake us you must have been drinking a _lot_ this morning.” He gestured between them. “You’re twice my fucking size and I’m pretty sure I’d need more than a heavy tan to rock your shade, and if you even _think_ about dying my hair I’m gonna take my chances with magical incineration when I leave.”

“No one is meant to mistake us,” Jake told him jovially.

“Then is this some kind of joke? Because I really feel like it’s falling flat.”

With a sigh, Jake adjusted the skirt and carefully knelt between the cot and the bed, reaching and nudging the tray forward to remind Dirk it was there. It felt odd to accept the clear meaning of that motion, but after a complaint from his stomach Dirk rolled his eyes and started to eat, unsure if he could even comfortably finish the portion usually allotted to the King. He did his best, waiting for an explanation that didn’t come, until his patience wore thin and he dropped his fork to the plate with a clatter.

“Okay. _Okay._ You want to play this game? I’m down.” Dirk folded his arms. “You’re dressed in my clothes and I’m eating your breakfast so let’s get our crazy power trip on. _I order you to explain._ ”

To his surprise, Jake beamed.

“Certainly, _sir,_ ” he said without a hint of mockery, clasping his hands in his lap. “It’s the Day of Suffering, which is a darn bit less painful than it sounds, honest. It’s the day we celebrate the sacrifice of the Signless, who gave up his status to make our lives better and spare those who might otherwise have died in the pursuit of power! There’s feasts over the city paid for by the Knights of each area, and all the nobles in Prospit gather in the Palace for a Gala! And in memory of what was lost and what was gained, today all the feasts are for those who could never normally afford the food they’ll be served, and for one day,” he gestured at himself with a hopeful smile, “the servants are the masters, and the masters are the servants.”

“...The day when the fool is King.” Dirk’s eyebrows twitched. “I thought that was a fairytale.”

“All stories come from somewhere, your Highness. Some are just closer than you think.”

“Stop doing that.”

Jake blinked at him. “Doing what?”

“ _Your Highness,_ ” he parroted back through grit teeth, the words oddly grating when they came with that particular deferential tone behind them. It was easy to laugh at when it wasn’t in practise, but _this…_ It felt like an insult, but he wasn’t sure why.

A perplexed look greeted him, a slightly bemused grin. “It’s what you are.”

“No one’s meant to _know_ that.” This was _simple,_ this had been ground into him, and he stifled another yawn behind his hand before he gestured. “Not yet.”

“No, _no-_ You’re the fool.”

“ _What?_ ”

“The fool who’s King!” Jake laughed, brighter than Dirk’s drowsy mind could manage yet, bitter with recent sleep. “It’s _you_ , Dirk. You’re my servant, the first one I’ve ever had; today, we trade places. I wear your clothes, as you’ve been so kind to repeatedly notice, and you… Well. You wear some of mine.”

“We trade places.” It felt like putting a puzzle together in oil.

“Yes...” Jake nodded encouragingly, leaning forward.

A few more pieces oozed into place. “So I’m…”

“The King of Prospit. Keep up!” Dirk was trying, but as Jake slammed the finished puzzle into metaphorical place all he felt was the splash of oil that still blurred the image and clogged up all his mental gears. “But only until midnight, and you can’t make any official decrees or anything so don’t try and be smart with me. It’s symbolic, really, but it should be… special. Very special. At least, if I have my way it will be.” Jake was continuing quite cheerfully and Dirk tried to follow, already feeling the ache in his head turning to a low throb of pain on one side as the headache started. “But that’s for later! For _now,_ eat up and I’ll get you dressed and you can go greet the Court who’re _dying_ to see you, I’m sure, it’s been the talk of the Palace for a while and if people weren’t so flighty around you you might’ve even heard it, though I _did_ ask certain people to keep it low so it could be a surprise! Or, so you wouldn’t have time to run away, actually, but you know, I make do.”

Dirk exhaled, slowly, rubbing his knuckles against the pulse of discomfort that haunted him after restless nights, one eye closed against the pain. He stepped back through Jake’s words and he _understood,_ but the conclusion they led to was so ridiculous that it couldn’t possibly be right. No. He had to be confused.

“You’re saying a lot of words,” he explained, sentence as lethargic as the onslaught of speech had left his mind feeling, “but my head flat-out isn’t putting them together.”

“Then I’m doing a smashing job of being you already! You just need to knock my, uh… well, my _sandals_ off, and then I’d call us even!”

This was not what he’d signed up for.

He hadn’t signed up for _anything,_ but whatever. He _especially_ hadn’t signed up for _this bullshit._

“So you want me to dress up in fancy, stupid clothes, and be all…” Dirk’s nose wrinkled. “ _Kingly_ , and go dance for no reason in a room full of other people pretending to be something they’re not to celebrate a dead guy who called you all out on being idiots that one time and then tonight we go to sleep like nothing happened and tomorrow it’s all some fucked up feverdream and we dust the glitter off our clothes and go back to our normal existence without looking back at the travesty that unfolded when we were all playing pretend?”

“Well… I wouldn’t _quite_ phrase it like that…”

“So _yes._ Yes, is what you’re saying.”

“It wouldn’t kill you to just _try_ the way we do things without being an ass about it, you know that?” Jake’s smile was gone, his knuckles pale as he stared at his fists instead of looking at Dirk. “You think it’s so stupid, don’t you? But- But people _look forward to this,_ people enjoy it, because for one day the poor can eat like royalty and take home what’s left, the servants can dress in all the finery they’ve stared at all year and not worry about what people will think of them, and the nobles… they can... “

“They can _what?_ Carry around a tray and think how simply _marvellous_ it must be to live such a _simple_ existence? Sounds delightful, I’m sure you all adore the delusion, pretending you understand the poor without giving up a thing, and-”

“They can have one frigging day a year a whole city isn’t depending on them!”

Jake clapped a hand over his mouth the moment he realised he’d snapped, but Dirk nodded after a moment to process it, returning to eating with a frown. The scrape of the fork to porcelain was all that sounded until Jake huffed and swept his gaze over Dirk’s impassive expression.

“Why do you _do_ that?”

“Do what?”

“You- You’re always so contrary, so _sharp._ I get you want answers, but do you have to be such a twat about it?”

Dirk considered his eggs, watching one slowly come apart as his fork curved a path through it.

“...People lie easiest when they’re calm,” he offered quietly. “It’s harder to stop the truth coming out when you’re angry.”

“Can’t you just… trust people?”

“In Derse? No.” Dirk snorted. “In Prospit?” He took his time with a mouthful, thinking it through, all the people he might take on face value without suspecting their words. Karkat was there, and somehow so was John; and Jake was closer to it than he wanted to admit, though he wondered how much trust he was given in return, how many safeguards were hidden in case he turned as once expected.

“I think I could learn to,” he decided, glancing at the King who was fool for a day. “But some things have been easy to learn, to accept, and those were the things I thought would be hardest; and some things seem like they should be easy, but they’re the things I can’t do, not yet.”

Jake nodded slowly, eyes turning softer, understanding replacing frustration. “I know you didn’t want this, any of this, and I know that sometimes life gives us what feels like a rigged hand and we have to make the most of that… But if you spend all your time searching for traps you’re never going to see the big picture, and the moment you find a knife anywhere you’re going to figure you were right about all the rest all along.”

“Like John?”

“...Like John.” Jake sat back, leaning against the bed and closing his eyes. “He was angry, and he made it everyone’s fault- and it _was_ someone’s fault, just like everything that’s happened to you, but _someone_ isn’t _everyone,_ and it’s easy to make enemies but if you never take your time you’ll never learn how to make _allies,_ let alone how to make friends.”

“Are game pieces really allowed to have friends?” Dirk ran some bread through with his fork, twirling it in the air to give him fingers something to do beyond clench painfully around the metal. “Don’t we have bigger things to worry about?”

“All of life's a game, Dirk, but it isn’t ours to actually play it, no matter what people think. You know thinking like that is why Jane said no- to the Throne, I mean, she should’ve had it, but she didn’t want that, so she turned it down... and she ended up neck-deep in all the plays anyway. When they came and asked me, I figured I might say no too, actually.” He blinked up at the ceiling, touching his chest lightly and looking down sharply at his own fingers, brushing down his chest hair as he seemed to remember with a blush that there was nothing to hide it.

“...So why did you say yes?”

Jake’s hand came to a stop as he turned to stare at Dirk like he’d asked if the sky was blue.

“Because no one else was going to,” he said plainly, “and someone had to do it.”

“Do you regret it?”

“No. I mean… Alright, _sometimes_ it’s a humdinger of a thing and I’m not happy to be the one doing it, because everyone expects me to fix everything and I can’t ever ride a horse through some trees without a whole flock of orange peacocks flouncing after me to try and get this, or that, or convince me so-and-so would make a good Knight, or such-and-such shouldn’t be a Knight at all… and that’s my _free time._ That’s… meant to be _fun._ ” Jake groaned. “When I’m actually _working_ I have to think about the whole State all at once and if even one group feels shafted I’ve gone and blown it all, haven’t I? So it’s weighing things up and making compromises and putting it together myself when I’d rather let other people sort it out- but no one else is going to. They’re still living in fear of a shadow who ruled with an iron fist, and looking over the waters to see Derse is in no better a state… It makes it hard to convince people I actually care, you know? Because why would I? I’m the King. I have everything I could possibly want, all entombed in gold bricks and surrounded by power. Everyone listens to everything I say and doesn’t want to talk back to me, even when I’m wrong.”

“You’re not John.”

“I’m still the _King_ , and after a while the city stops paying attention to the names, because all you are is body beneath a crown that has a legacy people will know long after they’ve forgotten all about you. People will forget these silly clothes and the magic I put in them, you know?” He tugged at the small jacket with a wry smile on his lips. “People will forget my Grandma planted a forest and made it grow in a day. But people will remember the days when everything was blood, and anger; they’ll remember that, and forget it was all from mourning and despair.” The jacket snapped back into place and Jake cupped his hands, gathering a shadow in them that swelled, first into a man and then warping beyond it, a single pair of eyes that glowed blue turning red and shattering into many as the small shadowy hands and hammer turned to claws on too many limbs to count, grasping and reaching and draining the light from the room. “The monster grows bigger and nastier each time someone whispers the story, its teeth grow sharper, its victims change, and the Dersite purge becomes the Prospitan _Horrors,_ becomes wild and unwieldy and a story uttered to terrify those who might set a toe out of line.”

“It wasn’t like that,” Dirk leaned forward and swept his hand through the shade, and Jake caught his wrist as the image fell apart and drifted down like ash.

“You thought it was,” Jake murmured, holding his gaze without blinking. “You were afraid of the monster, Dirk, but then the monster held a mirror, and you saw in the glass a different place, where the monster could have been you.”

“Is that what you see, when you look at him?”

“I see a man who had the world in his palms, and then he lost it all and he felt like he could have saved it. He was sad, and angry, and very very lonely, and weak men who feel such terrible things want to make everyone else feel them too; but he wasn’t any man, and he had more than daydreams to make his sorrow spread.”

“Do you think John was weak?” Dirk asked.

“I think any man would be weak if he lost what he loved the most.” Jake squeezed his wrist, finally blinking and looking away. “But I think a _King_ is only as human as the people around him make him feel; and I think that the day he loses that, it’s very easy to forget he’s a man weighed down by a crown, not just a vessel below it overflowing with gold-plated fury, crying out in the voices of the dead.”

Dirk held the fabric of familiar gloves around Jake’s wrist in turn, steadying the other’s arm when it started to tremble.

“Why do you tell me these things?” He asked softly. Jake laughed.

“Because I think of them often,” he mumbled, “but no one’s stopped to listen to them before.”

The admission was earnest and plain, and Dirk didn’t know what to make of it. He was used to being told things because people thought he _deserved to be informed,_ or because he _needed to know_ , or because they were trying to offer him an olive branch through wisdom and gossip. The idea Jake just wanted to _talk_ and be _listened to-_

It hadn’t occurred to him at all.

“Jake,” he started with no idea of where to go, but before he worked his way to anything more, the door was slamming open and Jake’s hand had jerked back like it had stung, their gazes snapping away from each other to fix on the intrusion instead.

 _The intrusion_ took the form of Karkat, albeit Karkat looking hideously out of place in what was clearly John’s tunic and pants, or at least a better-sized copy of them. He looked naked without his usual, ridiculous robes, and Dirk couldn’t help his nose wrinkling at the strange discomfort the sight brought before Karkat groaned and threw his hands up.

“For the love of fucking _fuck,_ will you _get your shitting clothes on_ before I have to come in here and dress you like the incapable whining child you’re apparently going to be filling the role of today!”

The door slammed again, Karkat gone and the moment shattered with him.

“...It seems I’m doing a poor job of keeping you to schedule, your Highness.” Jake clambered awkwardly to his feet, rubbing his gloved palms together agitatedly. “ _Apparently_ , people are waiting on you.”

“It’s just Karkat,” Dirk replied. “Get back to me when it’s someone who matters.”

After a very poor attempt at stifling his laugh, Jake turned to the bed and gestured over the clothes, smile lingering. “...You’ll be delighted to know you get to wear my ceremonial clothes, instead of my normal- what is it? My pile of curtains and duvet-cover off-cuts.”

“Oh _boy_ ,” Dirk finally set the plate aside, standing and stretching with a soft groan between words, “do I get to wear _less_ than every single shade between red and yellow?”

“It’s mainly just cream and gold.”

“I didn’t think it was possible for you people to work with such a limited palette.”

“Well it _is_ a special occasion.”

“And on that day, once a year,” Dirk intoned solemnly, “the servants and the Courtiers trade places, and because of that someone rational is put in charge of clothing-based decrees. The people rejoice. Feasts are thrown in honour of the merciful tailor. All is joy, and wonder.”

“Oh, _stop._ ”

“What’s _this_ , mother, a child asks with wide eyes and a strange exotic gift clasped in his tiny hands. Why my boy, that is a _shirt,_ his mother explains kindly. He’s never seen such a marvel before.”

“ _Dirk,_ it’s not _that_ bad.”

“ _Sure_ it’s not. And how’s the _very_ covering jacket I get to wear treating you?”

Jake peered down at his own chest and deflated slightly.

“ _Alright_ , but-” He self-consciously rubbed at his skin. “But not _everything_ is like this. Outside the Palace people dress more like John. It’s just the servants here who wear this! And for _practical reasons,_ remember?”

“You could have your practical reasons with a better design ethic.”

“Okay, _well,_ the _style_ came long before my time.” Jake huffed. “I just enchanted it and took away, uh… quite a lot of it, apparently.”

“Right, right, the whole, no invisible protections thing.”

“It’s no magic, actually. Or at least, no magic of certain kinds. You can’t cast magic on yourself.” Jake shrugged. “...And you can’t do any magic with conscious intent to cause harm to another. Don’t ask how it works, by the way, I don’t actually _know,_ but I know it _does work,_ and I’ve never been wrong about it yet.”

Dirk peered at Jake closely, lacing his fingers in front of his mouth.

“I suppose it’s way too optimistic of me to hope you’re wearing a fake.”

Jake’s face wrinkled up. “Whyever would I do that?”

“...You don’t _actually_ need me to answer that?”

“Dirk, I know what you’re thinking, but there’s Spirits _everywhere_ today- their part in this is to be treated as human, and allowed to roam without any of the limits on them they normally suffer.”

“This isn’t helping.”

“All the ones who remain are loyal to John, even if they aren’t fond of anyone else, and more than that… they’re _observed_ , today.” Jake paused, eyes flicking upwards. “Trust me when I say they won’t do anything to harm me, and protect me if they can.”

“And _people?_ ” Dirk let his distrust in that hopeful sentiment slide, pushing on to bigger issues.

“Are going to have _much_ bigger things on their mind than _me_ , and even if they _were_ here to harm me, I’m not going to be anywhere they can get to.” Jake sighed and picked up the softer under-gloves worn beneath the decorative ones, waiting for Dirk to move slowly to the place Jake usually stood to dress. He closed the gap and started on the arm that was reluctantly lifted, soft wool rolling up to Dirk’s elbow. “I’m not an idiot, I don’t swan about in the center of the floor with a target painted on me! Besides, no one knows I’m attending except a chosen few, and I’ve never attended before. Even _with_ a servant, as far as the household knows I’m not coming, and they won’t know I’m with _you_ because Karkat is going to fill that space.”

“But you _are_ coming?” Of course he was. He wouldn’t defend it if he was smart enough to stay away, the one day of the year he was vulnerable apparently not a good enough reason to do something crazy like go stay with John or somewhere else just as safe.

“...I’ve never attended anything like this before. I… I’d rather like to see what it’s like.”

Dirk closed his eyes.

“If I command you to stay here,” he said at last, “I suppose there’s a reason you’d say no.”

“Mainly bloody-minded contrariness.” Jake tugged the next glove up Dirk’s other arm. “I _am_ filling _your_ role, after all.”

“I haven’t refused you _once_.”

“You’ve been smart enough to never _say_ no, you mean? You’ve certainly refused me. Making things so awkward I have to either suffer through inane nonsense or just change my mind is not actually doing as I asked.”

“It’s doing _exactly_ as you asked.”

“Of course, to the _letter,_ with all the frustrating time-wasting and bothersome fussing that entails!” Jake scoffed at him. “And then when I can’t deal with it and tell you to forget the order and do something else, that’s not at _all_ what you intended, is it?”

“If you can’t cope with such dedicated service that isn’t _my_ problem.”

“Cripes-” Jake rolled his eyes as he unlaced the undershirt he lifted next, shoving it over Dirk’s head ungracefully. “I can see why Jane likes you.”

The thought Jane had spoken about him pushed firmly aside and a smile definitely kept off of his face, Dirk got his head through the hole meant for it, clearing his throat as Jake started to thread the loose fabric back together. “She says I’d be even better if I dropped my _ironic schtick_ and just dressed you backwards or left a jar of honey in your bath to attract flies when you go riding.”

That got him a _look._ “You know I _can_ throw you in the dungeons.”

“Not today you can’t.”

“Oh, I _could,_ it would just involve more slinging you over my shoulder and carrying you down there myself, _your Highness._ ”

“I can’t believe today was all a ruse to kidnap the King and throw him in jail.”

Jake huffed, thrusting fresh underwear at him after apparently deciding that helping Dirk pull it on was a bridge too far. That was a point of mutual agreement, at least, and Dirk started changing himself without complaint as Jake tapped a foot impatiently.

“I never expected anyone from Derse to be so… talkative,” he muttered to himself. “I know _Dave_ was, but he didn’t have the Empress to walk all over him, and Jane has some _terrible_ stories to tell about that place from what she’s been snuck down the grapevine.”

“So you _do_ have stories about Derse.” Dirk raised an eyebrow curiously, glancing upwards. “There I was thinking it was all one-sided rumours, what with how you haven’t pointed a single accusation of the sort at me since I got here.”

“Of course we do! And some are more accurate than others.” Jake hesitated, giving him a look as Dirk straightened back up. “I just never really wanted to… force that on you. It sounds like you were close to where a lot of it happened.”

“I think I’ve thrown enough in your face to take a few blows back.”

Jake looked away, then back again, faltering before he inclined his head in acceptance and slowly made his way through words that were clearly chosen as carefully as he could manage. “...Jane has...a _number_ of spies, that much you have to know. A lot of them are people who are still loyal to your family, old friends of it, allies… Some are just people who have reason to hate the Empress and made contact in other ways. A few are in the Palace itself, or have ways into it- Honestly Jane’s still surprised no one knew about you, but- from what we’ve heard the Empress isn’t particularly forgiving with her, uh. Her closest… possessions.”

“She isn’t,” Dirk shrugged, gaze dropping. There was nothing left in his words, a plain statement of facts that felt far away. “I wasn’t allowed a name in public. I’m not surprised no one knew me, because anyone who knew my brother- They were either thrown out of the Palace, dead, or their mind wasn’t theirs anymore.”

“Jane was told stories about what the Empress did to her, uh-”

“Pets,” Dirk provided. “She called us pets. That was the word.” He blinked placidly. “An assortment of letters to form a sound that has no power if you don’t let it.”

“I’m surprised you can talk to me, sometimes. That’s all.”

“Because you’re a King, and I’m expected to serve you?”

“Because Jane worried it would be too similar. That you wouldn’t… That you’d remember too much.”

“She never really did anything to me.” Dirk met Jake’s gaze again and hated the pity in it. “She chained me to other people’s hands and made me a token, and sometimes they got more than that; but that’s just… life. You adapt, you cope with it, especially if it’s how it always was, and Derse… has different views. Even if I’d been free I would’ve been used to more than a glove bumping my shoulder.”

“That doesn’t make it right.”

“It was _different._ I didn’t _care._ If I cared, she could break me, so I just let everything happen and then there was nothing for her to push on, nothing for her to break.” Something flashed, memory, foggy and quiet. He refused to let it rise, continuing calm and even. “I saw what she could do to others- I saw what she did to the ones who answered back, or fought, or screamed. So I wasn’t like them, I didn’t do any of that, and she never did anything to me.”

Jake didn’t say anything, and Dirk shook his head. “You do what you have to, to survive. You do whatever it takes to stay sane and keep hold of yourself, and it’s not pretty, and it doesn’t feel-- But you _do it,_ and she didn’t hurt me _then_ and she won’t hurt me _now._ ”

“Dirk-”

“I did what I _had to do,_ and I… I’m fine.” A long breath, a count of five, and his shoulders dropped back down and relaxed. “I’m fine, and I deserve the questions, and you deserve answers.”

“Did it… upset you?” Jake asked slowly. “Knowing what she did?”

“As long as it happened to someone else, I learned to just be happy it wasn’t happening to me.”

“That’s no way to live.”

“It’s not, and I had dreams of a free life in the city, of escaping somehow and finding a way to be happy amongst the people who deserved better, leading the lifestyle I coveted when she let me out to go and see it.” Dirk smiled pleasantly, recalling the daydreams clearly even as they seemed further away than they ever had before. “...And I always thought, no matter how bad things were- At least I’m not in _Prospit_.” He laughed, and it was soft and mirthless. “At least I’m not somewhere _worse_. I don’t know what I’d do if I was- If I was _there._ ”

Hell was easier to stomach when he convinced himself there were further depths to fall to, each day lived to a chorus of _at least I have- at least it’s not- at least I’m still-_ and all the rest, endlessly over and over until they were a gospel truth on a bitten tongue. At least it wasn’t Prospit, at least it wasn’t a death sentence, at least he still had Roxy, at least it wasn’t _him_ -

_It was always someone else._

“Maybe it’s why I had problems to start with,” he reasoned, swatting the bitter voice out of his thoughts, “but I’m not in chains, and even if I had no choice, I… _feel_ free. It took time to come to terms with that, it was easier to think I was a prisoner, but I believe you, that you want to help me. And it’s not because I don’t have a choice. There’s always a choice.” Dirk wet his lips, curling his hands into fists, digging his fingers into lines across his palms. “And better men have chosen the other path.”

“Choosing to live doesn’t make you weak,” Jake held out tight cream leggings and Dirk took them, feeling the cotton for a moment before he sighed.

“But it _is_ a choice.” Dirk glanced up, frowning. “The first night I came here, I thought you tried to trick me, and I hated you for it, but- it wasn’t a choice between killing one person, or killing many, was it? It was a choice between killing _anyone_ and killing _no-one_. You _were_ making me choose, but it wasn’t between the paths I thought were before me, it was between them and something _better._ Why… why did you do that? You didn’t have to, I would have stabbed you if you hadn’t said anything, it was only because you spoke that I even realised there were _options._ ”

“Everyone deserves a chance to prove what they’re made of.”

“You hate Dersites, and I was- I was here to _kill you_ , I thought, I was here to do _exactly_ what you think we’re all capable of, the thing that turned this city against us!” He didn’t _understand,_ he’d tried but he couldn’t see what there was to _gain_ by hesitating. “I was about to prove everything you thought about us. The only reason the poison worked before I stabbed you was because you started talking, I could’ve… I _could’ve done it._ I was about to prove we’re as bad as you think we are.”

“I know,” Jake replied quietly, touching his own chest, “And I thought for the longest time that’s what I wanted, you know? I wanted proof, so I could finally show everyone just how awful Derse is, that maybe John wasn’t as wrong as they think in what he did, but when you were there… You looked _afraid,_ and confused, and just… like anyone else, really, not a monster or terrible or anything, and I suddenly felt like maybe I’d never wanted any of that at all.” He rubbed his eyes, and his voice was muffled into his palms. “I think I’d always quietly hoped one day I’d be proved wrong.”

“So you gave me the chance to stop.”

“And you _did._ ” Jake dropped his hands into a frustrated gesture. “You _did!_ And twenty years ago a girl did something terrible and I was so ready to believe you were all like _her,_ but _you,_ you stood in my room with a knife in your hand and you _stopped._ ”

“The poison-”

“- _Wasn’t_ why you didn’t strike me. Don’t even _start._ You just said yourself you could’ve had me in the time it took for that stuff to send you reeling!” He glared at Dirk, but it softened quickly, hies next sigh more confused than it was irritated. “I never had any servant of my own because I thought they could be a spy sent to kill me- and you _are._ You’re a Dersite who had a knife _ready_ when I met you, you’re a Dersite who took every opportunity he had to tell me how awful Prospit was, who _still_ answers back to me and acts like he’s got a rod shoved up his ass over the stupidest things. I don’t understand why I trust you!”

Dirk stared at him, the sentiment even more surreal when it was so bluntly stated. Jake laughed in the quiet, looking away as his cheeks darkened.

“I trust you, and I know I shouldn’t, I know I have _every_ reason not to, but here we are.”

It felt like a joke Dirk wasn’t grasping, sitting uncomfortably with him even as he struggled to seize it fully, to take the words as truth like he felt he wanted them to be. Jake’s approval- Jake’s _trust-_ they hadn’t mattered to him once, but Jake was starting to feel less like a King and more like a _man,_ and that had opened up the startling new possibility that Dirk might _want_ to know him, that Dirk might _want_ to be something more to him than a piece in a game. Jake was looking at him and Dirk stared back, feeling stupid as he clutched the pants to his chest and resolutely forgot to do anything sensible like _wear_ them.

“I just don’t know what I have to do to make _you_ trust _me_ ,” Jake mumbled, gaze flitting between Dirk’s eyes like the answer might be hidden in them. “I know it’s hard, and that I’m not in the best place to ask that of you. I know we got off on a _very_ wrong foot and we’ve spent the rest of the time hopping and limping to try and make ends meet, but… If there’s something I can do, to earn that from you, I want to know. You won’t have to put up with this forever, Dirk, and one day if things go well you’ll be able to go back to Derse, and be free there. I’d… I’d rather like if when that happened, we were friends.”

“You still want me to go home?” Dirk ignored the rest, he wasn’t sure he was ready to deal with it, not yet. “With what you know about Derse?”

“You still call it _home_ , so I suppose what I know about Derse doesn’t matter, does it? It’s what _you_ know that decides where your home ought to be, and I don’t think it’s my place to keep you from it forever.”

Finally, a key in Dirk’s back began spinning and he began to move again, mechanically, uncertainly, finishing clothing his legs and then watching nothing as Jake hesitantly urged a tunic over his head. It had the same shaped hem as so many other clothes here, left draped over his thighs as Jake tugged a corset around his abdomen and started to thread it shut, though thankfully not so tightly Dirk found it hard to breathe. He knew from doing it up himself that it was for display more than any actual practical purpose; or at least, any practical purpose it was meant to serve seemed unnecessary on a body as broad and solid as Jake’s.

His gaze lifted back to Jake’s face when a golden fabric collar was gently settled around his neck and buttoned into place, fabric so delicate it was like smoke over his skin.

“Anything I need to know before you throw me to the orange masses?” The last thing either of them needed was him causing some kind of political incident because he used to wrong knife to cut his fish, or because he led a dance he should’ve followed. Jake hummed around his tongue, poking out in concentration, fiddling with the golden clasp on the soft red cloak he’d fetched from the dwindling pile of clothing.

“...Don’t bow to anyone, that’s a sign of deference and you defer to no one but me, especially today. If you want to show respect, you touch your knuckles to their shoulder if you know them, rest your palm to your sign- the clasp here- if you don’t.” Jake gently swept the cloak over Dirk’s shoulders, fixing it in place with what Dirk noticed was a simple sun, instead of Jake’s personal wings. “The taller partner leads each dance, and you should accept all offers of dances that come before any food is served, as you’ll be expected to decline them all afterwards so you can sit and observe the hall. That includes from the spirits; today is the one day they have the right to ask, and not many will, but some may take the opportunity.”

“All offers?”

“Well, as long as they’re from someone of standing, today. As a general rule, if you can see their whole face, you should say yes.”

“...But not just women?”

Jake paused halfway to ducking for Dirk’s boots, straightening slowly and gesturing for Dirk to sit.

“Derse is a very strange place.”

“Apparently,” Dirk muttered as he sat, stretching his legs before raising them and wiggling his toes while Jake pulled woolen socks over them. “Men can’t ask for dances, back home, only accept or deny offers women grant them. Sometimes a woman will ask for two of the men to dance together, and it’s frowned upon to deny her. Now and then a woman would demand I dance in my chains, to see how cultured the Empress’ pets were- so I learned to dance, and to dance well. It wouldn’t do to let the Empress down, would it? Especially not when there was likely something foul waiting for me if I did.”

“Well you don’t have to worry about letting anyone down, today. Whatever you do is your own.”

“But you _have_ plans. You said as much.”

Jake smiled wryly, helping Dirk press his foot down into one boot and then starting to carefully lace it up the back of his calf, fingers moving between the metal studs with ease that only faltered once or twice in small fumbles. It was calming, the repetitive motion so close to him, and Dirk spent the time admiring the golden detail on the white leather, suspecting the shoes were worth more than some people’s lives. It felt strange to wear them, and not think of them as some kind of owner’s mark.

This _should_ have been too similar, a part of him thought. Was that why he had fallen into line so quickly? Or was that why each time he remembered it was different in Prospit his mind seemed unable to accept it, to war with itself over what was true and what was false. It had been easier to believe he was still delusional, at first, than to appreciate others might want to treat him with any modicum of respect instead of the adoration afforded a prize jewel in a royal collection. It should have been easier to see _this_ as him being displayed again, just like before, and yet he felt no panic in his chest as Jake started on the other boot, nor the deadened acceptance he had faced so much else with.

“...People are going to recognise you,” Jake said at last, once the laces were all tied and his hands were loose in his lap where he’d come to kneel between Dirk’s feet. He looked up, eyes soft without the glow of magic in them, and Dirk wondered how it had taken so long for him to notice they were lit by nothing but the sun. “You look just like your brother, and there are going to be people who met him, who remember. There are going to be people who know who you are.”

“Then why are you letting them see me?” Dirk frowned, standing when Jake did, for all he was hardly an impressive prospect, staring defiantly upwards at the stronghold of a man above him. “I can stay hidden, Jake, you could go without me, or-”

“No.” Jake had the finer gloves snatched up in an instant, lifting Dirk’s arm himself when Dirk didn’t offer it and sliding the gilded leather up across his splayed hand. “Hiding you gives us an advantage, but it’s only a matter of time before you’re discovered, if she doesn’t already know you’re still well. If you’re to be exposed at all it’ll be on my terms, not hers.”

“You told me once that everyone in Prospit thinks I’m dead or will try and kill me!”

“I did tell you that, I told you that a _month ago_ , which means Jane had a month to change their minds.” Jake tied the glove a little tighter than was needed before he moved to the other arm, very clearly avoiding looking at Dirk’s face. “She’s swung longer standing opinions in a day.”

“And the Empress?”

“The Empress doesn’t know half of what she thinks she does about Prospit, and if she tries anything, there are more safeguards in place than you know.” He jerked the glove the final distance, tightening it enough to hold against Dirk’s arm. “Besides _which,_ the leap that you are my servant isn’t as obvious as you may believe, and Jane has done a _wonderful_ job of staging a more public entry into the city of a man who looks remarkably like you, and setting a guest bedroom under heavy guard, and making it seem lived in. People are excited you’re attending, it _has_ been the talk of the Palace, but… but as far as they know, I’ve chosen to avoid taking part just like always, and my servant has been denied the place he might’ve had in favour of it being granted as a political gift.”

“Karkat’s here to take me to the room I’m meant to come out of,” Dirk realised slowly, and Jake nodded.

“And I’ll sneak down later, separately, after making sure this place seems like it’s still occupied.”

“Why? Just to show her up? I don’t buy that.” Dirk frowned, adjusting the thread on his gloves as Jake turned away, his dark shoulders hunching for a moment. “You don’t gain anything out of this. I’m still in hiding, but now the Empress knows that I’m alive and myself; you’re just in more danger of her striking at both of us!”

“Maybe, but it was only a matter of time. She knew where my bedroom was, she knew my defences well enough to use them against you, she knew _something_ that made her decide to send you at all. Jane has spies in Derse and I’d be a fool to believe the Empress didn’t have spies in Prospit, but with information like _that_ they have to be spies closer to me than I want to believe.”

“ _I_ could be a trap, Jake. This could be what she _wants_.”

“And saying things like _that_ is why you’re _not._ ” Jake sighed. “Dirk, please. Let me do this.”

“I’m feeling awfully like a pawn all over again.”

“You’re _not._ That’s not what this is.”

“Then what _is_ this?”

“Your hair being down is what it is,” Jake snapped, then caught himself and laughed, shaking his head. He turned to Dirk and the crown was in his hands, golden and shining, stones shimmering the colour of his eyes as he looked away from them to stare firmly back at Dirk instead. “It helps when it isn’t shoved under a hood, doesn’t it?”

The words chimed with memory, soft and recent, and it was enough Dirk stayed quiet when Jake stepped up to him. He closed his eyes when Jake raised his hands; then the darkness was broken by a burst of colour. Fingers on his temples, steadying and soft, lacing green through his senses as Jake took a few audible breaths in the pause. The cold metal that touched his skin lanced white that faded out to blue, and all of it washed through with amber sunlight dyed silver, and a flash of red-

Jake’s fingers slipped to his cheeks and the bloody burn was lost under vibrant emerald, his eyes coming open and finding the world the same hue for a moment before he blinked away the after-glow and felt the weight of the metal already fading as it soaked up the warmth of his skin and the line between the two blurred together, already far less noticeable than the heat of Jake’s hands on his cheeks, even with fabric between them.

“You’d make a terrible King,” Jake murmured, and for all he’d been told it was _this_ that finally made Dirk’s lips turn upwards, a truth no one could dissuade him of said so fondly, and with such a smile. Jake dropped his hands and gently adjusted the sun-shaped clasp on Dirk’s chest, tensing when Dirk caught his wrists but relaxing swiftly and letting his hands be pulled away.

“Maybe one day we’ll find out.” Dirk brushed his own hand over the sun, out of place but not _unwanted_. “And who knows, maybe when that day comes, we’ll have figured out how to find out as friends.”

Jake’s surprise showed in his face, but it broke to a grin quickly, then turned to a curse just as fast when from just beside them both Karkat started, “touching as this _is-_ ”

“ _Son of a flying-_ ” Jake wheezed and grasped at his chest, taking a sharp step back, as Dirk closed his eyes to contain a curse of his own, turning away and exhaling sharply to let out the impulse to scream. “ _Karkat!_ Will you _knock_ or _yodel_ or _something_ before you _appear and give me a lousy heart attack!_ ”

Karkat raised his eyebrows calmly, before he slowly walked to the door, holding Jake’s eye contact the entire way, and knocked twice.

“ _That isn’t funny you pint-sized piece of-_ ”

“So now that’s over,” Karkat interrupted, “and we’re done with whatever feelings jam I interrupted before it got hideously affectionate, I’m _thrilled_ to see you succeeded in putting on some clothes and it only took you about ten times the rate it would’ve taken a particularly lazy mollusc.”

“I guess you just can’t get the staff anymore,” Dirk replied sweetly, ignoring the affronted glance Jake shot his way. “It must have been terrible, being held up like that, kept from all the important business you’ve been dying to rush off to.”

“My _important business_ is going to be shoving your face so far up your own backside that you can see back out your own throat if you don’t shut up, Strider.”

“Charming.”

“They don’t keep me around because I’m charming, they keep me around because I’m willing to slap today’s Kingly special if he doesn’t wipe that shit-eating grin off his face.” Karkat scowled, folding his arms over his chest. “I’m allowed to be grouchy when it’s the day everyone collectively loses their mind and takes a swan dive into an idiotic shitfest the likes of which haven’t been seen since Eridan Ampora decided the best way to save people’s lives was to punch holes out of their stomachs. Which is a story for _another day,_ ” he added when Dirk’s eyebrows twitched, “a day when I am not _already_ prepared to tear my tongue out and fry it as the centerpiece of the Feast of Dumbasses so I have an excuse not to say anything to anyone for the rest of this pathetic celebration of how _murder is bad_ was a _stunning revelation_ whose generous imparting through the form of _holy shit are you kidding me_ is worth remembering for all of eternity.”

“You know I think there was a _little_ more involved than _murder is bad,_ Karkat,” Jake started hopefully, but Karkat just gave a derisive snort and managed to roll his eyes with the smallest of upward glances.

“You’re right. I’m sure there was _much_ more yelling and calling someone stupid.” He flapped his hands at them both irritably. “Let’s just get on with this. I’ve _already_ been talked into doing more than I intended to today, so the least you can do is make my torture _swift._ ”

Dirk glanced between them, but his worry was caught before it could flourish, Jake’s fingers curling in a hesitant reach before patting his shoulder gently. It was enough; Dirk gathered himself as best he could manage, then moved to the waiting spirit, offering his hand somewhat awkwardly for lack of anything else to do.

Karkat took it, squeezed once, and then the world was shattering again, paint running down the walls of reality, his regrets flung away along with everything else that wasn’t the hand grasping his, the one solid thing in all the chaos. Dirk crushed it tightly, eyes catching over and over on colours that rushed past before he could focus, head starting to spin so fast it unspun itself to nonsense and left him thoughtlessly reeling.

The world came back all at once, and Dirk staggered, choking on stinging bile as Karkat caught him and held him steady.

“Easy,” was murmured close to his ear, and it took him a moment to piece his mind back together enough to work out that it was Karkat who’d spoken, the two seeming disconnected for an instant. With a ragged gasp of air that broke to deepening panting, Dirk nodded and managed to stand on his own, wiping his mouth and then his eyes when the water in them welled over, trying to ignore the vivid gaze following him and the sigh he earned. “It takes some getting used to.”

“No shit.” He cleared his throat and chose to pick at his outfit instead of looking at Karkat, tugging everything back into place wherever it had minutely slipped. Simple as the motions were, they calmed him, occupying his fingers and his returning thoughts better than dwelling on the lingering turn of his stomach or the sting in his throat.

“It always worse when you’re unbonded. Your body rejects all our shit until it’s shoved inside you and then it goes _oh fuck, I guess this jackass wants to ignore the whole planar separation thing._ Then everything’s just _swell_ and you can throw yourself through all the realms you want without anything but a lingering sense of distaste and the suspicion everything you just did was a colossal waste of time.” Karkat grimaced his way over to the door, opening it a fraction and peering out at whatever lay beyond. “If you ever want to put yourself into a boredom-induced coma Aranea has a whole theory on why you’ll throw up if I zap you somewhere but wouldn’t if it was a human using my abilities. She says it’s all in your mind and I used to think she was talking shit but having seen what a disaster humans can be and how you all tangle your thoughts up into a crocheted middle finger with a smile like a slobbering puppy plastered on your faces I’m starting to think she was on to something.”

“I thought you liked humans.”

“I _do._ You’re still all _ridiculous._ ”

Before a smile could even fully settle on Dirk’s lips it had faltered and faded, his finger lifting to touch the metal sat amongst his hair as the weight of it finally sunk down on him. The fool was King; and more than that, for one day the fool would wear his own face.

The crown was light compared to the burden of his own blood.

“Before you ask, _no._ ” Karkat pressed his palm to the door as it clicked shut again, staring down at the wood instead of turning. “I didn’t know he was going to pull this shit. John told me this morning and it’s either genius or _dumb as all fuck,_ and I can’t decide which, but if you want to back out I sure as Damnation won’t stop you.”

“Jake thinks people will recognise me,” Dirk replied, as though there was a may it might be untrue.

“Enough people will.” Karkat shut it down before it could even blossom into a hope, tone gentle all the same. “Your bloodline was always pretty easy to pick out of a crowd ever since that one mess left you assholes with hair frightened white. We didn’t even think that would pass down but hey, what do we know, magic likes to fuck around when you aren’t paying attention.”

“That… one mess-?”

“I need to stop doing that, I need to stop making you want storytime right before important shit is meant to go down but you know, fine, I couldn’t care less today, I carved the coffin time to bury myself in it!” With a dismissive flick of his hand Karkat flung the drapes across the room open, sunlight pouring in and softening the room with gentler light. “Some of us used to hang out in Derse in our dreams. No, don’t open your mouth at that, _that_ is so unimportant right now I am a Damned _spirit_ are you really going to question something like me dreaming myself somewhere? No. Good. That’s what I thought. _Anyway._ We used to dream there and while we laid low, the Monarchs knew about us because that was just polite, apparently, by which I mean the Serkets in their _infinite_ wisdom just flounced in and announced us one time and your family never let the _spirits sneaking in_ thing go for some crazy reason.”

“Well Moon forbid the Serkets not have everything entirely in hand at all times,” Dirk didn’t flinch when a glass of water found its way to him on a glowing cloud of cinders, taking it and sipping thankfully. “I’m sure it was all part of an astounding plan.”

“Don’t start me on their _plans._ The world has had to be saved from the _incredible_ schemes of the infallible black widows on at _least_ three occasions that I can count off the top of my head. If we include their joint monstrosity it goes up to at least _five._ I don’t even know what they were planning in Derse. Either someone stopped them or the Empress beat them to it, but whatever it was going to be it involved your asshole of a great great fucking too many greats here grandfather knowing we were there, and actually, to the shock of everyone involved, that _wasn’t a problem_ for centuries, we managed to keep the peace and the most annoying thing that really happened was the Strider of the season would ask us to do tricks to impress someone at a party or sometimes get us to help with big projects to speed them up, all in secret obviously because _colluding with Demons_ was a sure as shit way to get yourself chained to the throne and the whole thing punted into the ocean.”

“...So my family has a history with spirits?” It didn’t sting anymore. The blow was hollow, a point of interest instead of the point of a knife; it didn’t cut him, and Dirk drowned away the thoughts of what that meant.

“You could say that, yeah, if saying that doesn’t make you carefully poise shit on the end of a handle and prepare to flip it off into the farthest reaches of the void.” Karkat paused long enough to roll his eyes at himself, then carried on firmly. “There are things in Derse that aren’t in Prospit. Things that humans like you aren’t really aware of. The worst of them got to one of us, but before anyone could realise and do something about it, most of us found our dreams were a lot more _dead_ , and then in the time it took Terezi and Kanaya to figure out what was going on Gamzee had already lost his shit and basically forced the King to make a deal- that would’ve been your father, actually. If we’re paying attention to that.”

“My father,” Dirk repeated. The word hardly meant anything. A man he’d never known from a time that he felt he was never a part of, a shadow even more faded than his brother’s.

“I don’t know what you know about him, but he was… unique among men,” Karkat decided carefully. “ _Very_ unique. After Gamzee had helped him decide with a _lot_ of outside influence to bond, his, uh, his _quirks_ only got worse, like talking out of a marionette in the voice of someone else worse. It was probably the first attempt on the Derse throne, looking back. A- hah- _puppet Monarch._ That physically hurt me to say so I hope you appreciate it, and I hope whoever thought that was funny gets a swift celestial kick to their unspecified nether regions.”

“So he was crazy.”

“ _Crazy_ is a strong word. Mentally imbalanced by forcible control is more on the money. Extended control can do _weird_ things to human minds, breaking one apart like that is par for the course, and he was still aware enough to make sure it happened quietly, in private.” In the pause Dirk swore he heard Karkat mutter _unlike-_ but it passed too quick for him to be sure, though he glanced downwards as he finished the thought alone. “When it got so bad even the best Seer Prospit had couldn’t help him communicate most days, he abdicated and Dave took over in some bullshit handover that a kid his age didn’t deserve to go through and it was announced a poisoning gone wrong had left the old King with a lasting, incurable illness.”

“What happened to him? My father?”

“He stayed alive and started to recover, your parents had you and were even considering moving to Prospit to get more help for him, then bam. Someone decided they’d run out of uses, and they both turned up dead, but you were with Dave when it happened and he took you in like he hadn’t already been looking after you most of the time anyway. Both of you ended up with white hair like he’d had after the deal was made, but from everything we did to check, and we _did_ check, trust me, we checked every way we could manage, the hair was the only thing that passed down.” Karkat puffed up his cheeks then let the air go, spreading his palms to the ceiling. “Trying to help him was why Dave came to Prospit so much when he was younger, and looking into all that magic was probably _why_ he was so open to bonding when he found out it would be with Aradia instead of someone like, you know, Vriska. Look at that, it’s almost like people don’t do stuff without a reason, so please contain your affronted gasps of betrayal and consider the possibility, once again, that we aren’t as bad as you think we are.”

“Karkat, I haven’t hated you in weeks.” It was Dirk’s turn to grimace, giving Karkat a long stare. “You’re- I thought-” His ears burned. “We’re friends. Aren’t we? I thought we were friends.”

“We’re friends?” Karkat echoed dumbly.

“Well when you say it like _that_ it just sounds ridiculous.”

“No, I mean, _I_ thought-” He stopped and scowled, planting his hands on his hips. “When did we become friends?”

“When you weren’t paying attention, apparently.”

“ _Apparently._ ”

“Are you telling me you don’t feel the human emotion of friendship in my presence?” Dirk fluttered his lashes, pressing a hand to his own chest. “That we aren’t tighter than these stupid pants? That you aren’t platonic swooning over me?”

“I hate you,” Karkat told him.

“Uh huh.”

“I _despise_ you.”

“You’re smiling.”

“I know, I _know,_ I hate this.”

Karkat scrubbed at his mouth like it might make the expression disappear, but it only seemed to make it worse, his cheeks going a brighter red than looked natural as he finally threw his hands up in surrender and gestured sharply at the door.

“We have places to be! Things to do!” He yanked the glass out of Dirk’s hand with a blast of hot air that smelled like burning wood and make Dirk cough, floating it back to the table with a pointed _clink._ “There is a room full of people ready to kiss your ass downstairs and I’m not getting _my_ ass kicked because we were giggling at each other like small human children instead of turning up like we’re supposed to.”

“What happened to _if you want to back out I’ll let you?_ ”

“You had the chance, the chance fluttered out the window, and it turned out the window was barred because now you’re locked into the only path left open, which is the road straight into the flaming pile of noble excrement you’ll be swimming in for the rest of the day unless something spectacular happens to distract them, and I am your charitable jailer here to once again hold your hand and guide you to your upcoming social suffering.”

“How much am I actually going to suffer?” Dirk’s smile and mood wavered as he tried to gather himself into something more regal. He had to pretend to be a King, he reminded himself, and then something sheared apart inside his head as it hit him rather suddenly that he _was_ a King, supposedly. That this, whatever it was he was walking into, how he had to act, how he had to be- that it should have been his life. That this was closer to what the Empress had stolen from him than he’d ever been before.

“Hopefully? Not much. People are going to be too nervous to ask you to dance, and I only know of two of what I’ll loosely call _my_ people who are intending to ask you. No one bad, before you expect Vriska to come sweep you off your feet into a web somewhere- She’s busy using her _human status_ to cause chaos down in the market.” Karkat beckoned him and put both hands firmly up on Dirk’s shoulder once he could reach, squeezing firmly. “Jane’s in the kitchens, John is in his fucking shame cave, Jake will be around and so will I if you need anything. Maybe come to me first given Jake is meant to be hidden, even though he’s built like a fucking behemoth and that’s going to be hard enough to hide with magic let alone without it.”

“Does he really have no magic? Or-”

“He doesn’t have any magic he thinks he shouldn’t have, which means if you want a second go at stabbing him, today’s the day! And if you _do_ stab him I’ll personally see to it that no one ever finds enough parts of your corpse to resurrect you.”

“I’m not going to stab Jake.” The threat washed off him, a world away from the first time Karkat had terrified him. Now it was just words, empty in intent, both of them already knowing Dirk wouldn’t harm the person he’d once intended to kill. Karkat nodded curtly, letting go.

“Then the Gala should go swimmingly, and once it’s done, we can all go back to normal and forget this travesty, and you can intend to waltz out of the city and do absolutely the opposite.”

Dirk froze.

“I mean, you’re not going to, are you?” Karkat watched him closely, a little concern creeping into his silver features. “I know you planned to but things are different, aren’t they?”

“I’m-” _not sure,_ his mind supplied; _I’m afraid if I stay I’ll never go home. It’s too easy to be here, it’s too easy to live this life. It’s too easy to laugh when there’s so much left I have to do._

_I mean, it is, isn’t it?_

“If you leave, that’s on you.” Karkat poked his chest, gentler than normal, finger lingering before it dropped away. “But we can help you, and some of us give a lot of shits about you, in case that revelation had passed you by. It’s a day for me to hand them out like candy, so there it is! _Some of us care a lot about you._ Do you need some ridiculous sacrifice before you understand that? I mean, it’d be keeping up a tradition!”

It didn’t hit him so much as it dawned slowly, falling into place and leaving Dirk first in an amused breath before he managed to gesture. “It was you."

“Of course it was me. It’s always _me._ Everyone assumes it was the other asshole because he _heroically_ stopped wearing his sign in _solidarity_ but he was too interested in _preserving humanity’s tribal practises_ to step in and do something crazy like saying _hey, that killing shit you’re doing? Maybe don’t_.” Karkat frowned. “I’m not even _subtle,_ but no one seems to actually want to notice. After a few centuries it was _funny,_ and now it’s right back around to attending a stupid dance in my own honour and wanting to jump onto the throne to yell _this is stupid._ ”

“Everyone looks forward to today. You wouldn’t ruin it.”

“Which is _why_ we’re still _attending_ instead of jumping out the window and making our grand escape together to elope into the center of the sun.” Karkat smacked Dirk’s chest more firmly, turning to the door and opening it fully this time. “Come on, _your Highness,_ let’s get this over with.”

Dirk nodded, stepping forward before his motions caught, his eyes darting before he glanced across at the spirit.

“What happened to the spirit who dealt with my father?”

Karkat’s expression went painfully still, something terrible showing itself in the way nothing about him changed for far too many moments, an image carved of cold stone with eyes that held no light.

“I couldn’t save him,” slipped out just as Dirk had begun to feel like he should apologise. Karkat blinked, stone cracking slowly as he remembered how to move, and then the absence in his eyes filled all at once with something awful and old, a pain deeper than a blade could cut. “He’s gone. That’s all there is to say.”

The apology lingered unspoken until Dirk left it behind and started walking instead, keeping his head held high despite the guilt that added to the strain already trying to drag it down. Karkat appeared in front of him in a blink, and led the way without a word, down stairs and endless halls, empty of all but guards who no longer smiled but leapt to a stiff salute instead.

Dirk left the past behind him, shedding it like a thick cloak until he could walk proud and steady. It billowed away and came to pieces; there was nothing to gain from hurting over a history that wasn’t his. The future beckoned, shining gold, and with each step into the sunlight he caught the colour of the halls in his clothes, and his hair, and glittering on his skin.

 

 

Karkat stopped at the end of a hall lined with long tapestries, the suns on them sparkling with gilded threads in what shafts of light they caught from the high windows above. At the other end of the walkway, feeling very distant, a lone archway stood with the grand chandelier of the ballroom framed beyond it, and though Dirk couldn’t see the Gala within he could _hear_ it, vibrant music and chatter echoing along the empty expanse and filling the hollow gold with the talkative ghosts of the party ahead.

The hallway was stretching, growing more daunting as what shadows lurked amongst the shine swelled and grasped at the light. Dust motes danced in the shafts of sun before a racing cloud made them flicker one by one, marking its path with the light it stole.

“...Is this where you leave me?” Dirk glanced at Karkat, breathing in through his nose then sighing out through his mouth, keeping his composure through force if nothing else.

“The King enters Court alone.”

“Right, and I’m…” Dirk couldn't bring himself to finish it, just nodding curtly instead. “I suppose it's time to get this over with.”

“Well waiting won't accomplish much.” Karkat puffed at his loose hair to move it aside, nodding ahead when Dirk didn't move and giving a little scowl, much kinder than he usually presented. “Go on. You can do it, asshole. Just walk, and smile. That's all there is to it.”

“Where will you be?”

“Waiting for you at the bottom of the stairs.” Karkat started falling apart, ash forming back into his face no sooner than it had vanished when Dirk remained frozen, the hearth-scented flurry leaving a coal-light glow burning in his eyes. “Dirk, hesitating gives you more time to find reasons to panic. This is something you just have to _do_ , and you know that.”

The thought half-formed in Dirk’s mind finally solidified into words, discomfort sharpening into something tangible on his tongue.

“He didn’t want this for me.”

All at once Karkat was there again, ashes fading around him as he reached out and touched Dirk’s arm, flattening his palm against it and not flinching back like the others might when Dirk gripped his wrist, squeezing tight and finding comfort in the contact. Something passed unspoken, understanding, and for the first time the warmth of the fading magic in Karkat’s touch was familiar as it soaked through the fabric, bringing a sense of calm in the place of old fears.

“He didn’t _know you,_ either, so I’m not sure taking second-hand recollections of what he wanted for you as _fact_ is the wisest way to make life choices. Living in a shadow is great if that’s your thing, but no matter how nice the shade feels sometimes it’s time to step the fuck out of it and say _hey._ This is _me._ ” Karkat tapped the crown with a blunted claw, frowning. “This? This _isn’t_ you, and maybe being King won’t _ever_ be, and that’s for you to find out. But what _is_ yours is the respect that murderous witch stole from you, and when you walk out there you don’t walk out as anyone’s pet or anyone’s punchline. Jake gave you this to wear because he wants everyone in that room to understand how he sees you, and to see you the same way.”

“What does it mean? What will it tell them?”

“The person the Monarch trades places with isn’t meant to wear the real crown, they’re meant to wear a lesser circlet, because you can wear his clothes and play the role, but to wear _this_ isn’t meant for a servant. _This_ marks you as his _equal,_ and not just for one day.” Heat flourished through the metal as Karkat’s fingers ran over the curve of it, molten glow warming Dirk’s face without burning as the gold turned white in the aftermath of the spirit’s touch. “The Empress took away your rank and title, took away your place in the world, but forget the clothes, forget everything else- to them, out there, the Courtiers dressed as servants, this is their King saying he recognises you as the man your birth would have made you, that whatever’s been done to you hadn’t shaken his respect for you in any way. To _me,_ and to _you-_ This is Jake English saying no matter what you have to wear or have to do, you’re equals, and that he’s proud to give you something to wear to show it.”

Dirk felt the flush creep up his neck, reminding himself he was in _Prospit_ before unintended meanings could creep into the gesture. The true purpose was enough, a weight that changed from a burden to tipping scales; another thing that felt honest in intent.

_I just don’t know what I have to do to make you trust me._

Ah. That was the answer, wasn’t it?

Dirk laughed and let go of Karkat’s wrist, nodding more to himself than anyone else and turning his face towards the door ahead.

“They’re going to bow,” Karkat warned him. “Possibly _more_ than bow. Jane did a _very_ good job of evoking your family’s memory, and when they realise you really _are_ Dirk Strider, there’s going to be a lot of emotion involved. Derse and Prospit were never friends but Dave did a lot to change that, almost had an outright union between the cities, and that’s what they’re going to remember most. All that was good about Derse, all that was good before John, they’re going to see it in you before they see anything else. Let them; you have time to show them who _you_ are later, and I promise, you will.”

“I’m not the best at first impressions,” Dirk murmured, and Karkat snorted, finally dropped his hands and starting to fade again.

“Well you’re not trying to murder anyone this time,” he said sweetly, “so let’s take what we can get.”

A heated breeze rushed past as he faded entirely, and Dirk watched the sparks catching the light among the dust as they slipped out of sight, the chatter ahead dying down and the hallway feeling even grander in the reverential lull. Before he had time to doubt, Dirk started walking, slow and steady as he passed by each tapestry and let his gaze follow them up so high they vanished into shadow amongst the vaulted heights. The light slipped over him, warm fingers across his cheeks as the sun set them glowing, and though his breath felt tight he kept it easy with thoughts of a hot palm on his arm and then- unbidden- the thought of gloved hands resting to his cheeks.

His head rose, his shoulders unwinding. He would make a _terrible_ King, but by the Moon and by the damned _Sun_ he had enough pride to _look_ the part.

The archway loomed, and the view beyond it spread as he approached, the image of the chandelier coming to life and growing vast as the golden walls spread around it and the scale of the ballroom began to show, tapestries as long as those he’d passed hanging on the walls and not covering all the height of them. The room was bright as high summer in the brilliant shine of all the thousand glowing crystals that were strung together from the metal arms that spread across the room, curled tips ending in floral flourishes that held brighter stones between ornate petals, and as Dirk neared the first of many stairs leading down towards the polished wooden spirals gleaming over the floor, he saw a sea of more waiting faces than he’d ever seen below, all eyes upturned and all bodies still, more and more pouring into his view as his slowing steps led him from the last of the shadows into the brilliance beyond.

Between polished marble that looked like frozen fire he was finally caught himself, held still by the power of endless gazes and a sudden hush where whispers had been, a silence that swelled to fill the ballroom and left him able to hear his own pulse in his ears as his eyes widened and his lips came apart in something that wasn’t quite awe, wasn’t quite fear, a thrill in his veins that set his heart racing and his soul burning bright as the light that had him ethereal against the mere daylight behind him.

The Prince of Derse stood wearing the crown of the Sun, and yet with no mask or chain or fuschia sign to claim his face, in the moment he looked out over the Court of Prospit he felt for the first time like all there was left was Dirk Strider, and he found all at once that without another’s brand to hide behind he didn’t know what that _meant._

Somewhere below, there was a flurry, a motion; it was a servant- no, he reminded himself, a Courtier in another’s clothes- who moved first, close to the bottom of the stairs and dropping down to one knee, head low and a hand swept behind his back. A true servant near him in ornate clothes- possibly one who waited on him on any other day- fell next, and then another, and another-

Like ripples over the ocean around a skipped stone it started to spread between sparks of certainty reaffirmed by hushed murmurs, and Dirk could do little but stare as the room knelt as one and the sea grew low, tide turned by old blood running in young veins and white hair the chandelier had turned to gold leaf to frame his face.

When it ended, and all was ducked heads and averted wonder, all was still once more and a breath held in chorus, there wasn’t enough pride in Dirk to keep back the tide of childish awe, and it was that which drove him to take the first step forward, his footfalls on the gilded stairs echoing out over the celebration turned tranquil by his presence.

Karkat hadn’t knelt, though he bowed his head when Dirk passed him, Dirk’s attention elsewhere as he walked with more certainty to the curve of the crowd when it met the wooden shore. He stopped, lightly touching the first shoulder that had fallen and staring down at the face that turned up to him, soft brown eyes above a servant’s mask, worn and creased by years and suffering.

“How do you know me?” Dirk asked, voice carrying even with how softly he spoke. The Courtier openly looked over his face, head dipping when he finally answered.

“One Queen and two Kings I have served in my years, Lord, and I stood by the side of Our Lady Harley when she met your brother on the silver shores of the Skaian sea. You are his blood in your body and in your presence, and I had thought the rumours lies but by my old eyes I know your face as his, but know it was only in his youth he would have looked with such wonder, for he was hardened long before he had such years as you.”

“Then you knew my brother,” Dirk replied, and reached again, “but I would have you know _me_.”

The Courtier gazed at his offered hand in confusion before understanding blossomed, seeming unsure and unexpected. Slowly, he placed his own hand in Dirk’s and Dirk helped him to his feet, smiling at him once he was standing.

“I have never heard your name,” the Courtier said, “nor heard what you would have as your title.”

“I am Dirk Strider, Prince of all Derse; but today I will take the friendship Prospit has offered me, and I will gladly be known as King.”

Another ripple spread, whispers and voices and then bodies rising around them, the stillness shattered in a flurry as the quiet repetition of his words grew to excited chatter and eager craning to catch sight of Dirk as he stepped back, ready to turn to Karkat and ask what now.

Before he could get that far, knuckles smacked his shoulder, affronted gasps and startled giggles helping announce his fond attacker as she swept in front of him. Dressed all in reds and deep oranges, Terezi was just as strange a sight as Karkat had been, hair curling around her broad smile as her eyes glowed with inhuman excitement. Dirk couldn’t help a surprised laugh of his own, tapping his own knuckles to her shoulder in turn and groaning when she seized his hand to lick a stripe up his gloved palm.

“ _Creamy._ This isn’t the sort of party I meant, but it’ll _do_ , Your Honourable Kingliness.” She dropped his hand and raised her skirt in a curtsey, grinning at him the whole time. “May I have the first dance?”

“I was told I can’t really refuse.”

“You can’t! Isn’t it _great?_ ”

With that she’d seized his wrists, dragging him through the crowd that hastily parted around them and leading him to what he assumed was the actual dance floor, far from the tables he’d seen were part-way through being stacked with food. The bodies didn’t return to pressing in around them once she turned to face him and scooped a hand under his arm to hold his back, grasping his wrist in her other hand with a finger steadying along his palm. As Dirk settled his hand on her shoulder and let his other hand relax around the strange grip, he noticed they were being given more space than the other pairs that hurried to partner up around them, a larger floor that left no doubt the attention was still on them no matter how many other dancers joined them in standing ready.

“You taste less nervous than I thought you’d be,” Terezi muttered, nudging him with her knee before her leg fell back down to a better stance. “I’m impressed, Strider.”

“I’m pretty sure that’s just the shock setting in. I’ll let you know when the room starts spinning.”

“Ooh, a King swooning in my arms? _Delicious._ I’ll be the talk of the Realms.” Terezi cackled softly, something Dirk hadn’t thought possible until she managed it. “Jane wanted you tutored but Jake insisted you could do it, and look at that! You almost did it without breaking any customs. Just… A dozen or so, but we’ll let it slide today, despite the wishes of the State’s prosecution! You’re lucky it’s a day of amnesty.”

“My thanks to the Prosecutor.”

“She says _you’re welcome._ ”

Somewhere strings faltered to experimental life, and then with a delicate sort of cacophony the rest of an orchestra adjusted, back towards the stairs Dirk had walked down to enter the hall. It said something to how shocked he actually _was_ that he’d somehow missed there were musicians at all, and lacked to question how a dance would happen when he thought there were none. He rolled his eyes quietly at himself as the instruments settled, and then they came together into an organised melody, cutting clear above the lively noise of the Court and setting a beat that Terezi was swinging Dirk to follow before Dirk had even registered fully that the song was the cue to dance.

His body remembered, at least, falling into old steps and chasing Terezi’s lead until he caught up and followed her naturally, squeezing her shoulder before he relaxed his hand and slipped into an easier hold. He knew dancing. Enough people had paraded him to music before at the mocking behest of someone who wished to see _the Empress’ favourite_ at work for him to have learned his place around the styles Derse was fond of, and it seemed at least once was shared. He’d also invested effort into taking enjoyment from dancing, as it was one of the few things he’d been subjected to that didn’t feel like a chore; here and now, dancing without any insult in the actions, he found himself smiling before he could control it, the music carrying a joy through him as Terezi led him in a skipping path around their space.

“Did you get mad when you found out we’d be scheming? I know you _love_ schemes. But this was a good one, wasn’t it? A fully coordinated assault on public opinion to make your case without you even knowing you were on trial.” She hummed and dipped him, grinning down at him as her eyes flashed and sparked with amusement. “We made you Prospit’s new best friend, and whatever you do once today’s over that reputation isn’t going to go away and it will get you favours from people who wanted your head a month ago.”

“I would have preferred to _know,_ ” he countered as he rose. “I’m not sure what anyone gained by keeping me in the dark.”

“You say that _now,_ but a month ago you were looking for _any_ excuse to bolt, and if you try and act like that’s a lie I have a _lot_ of objections.” Terezi danced another line with him, lifting him effortlessly into a turn. “We didn’t trust you, and you know we had no reason to. Would you really have expected any different?”

“There were chances to tell me after I’d settled.”

“I know.” Terezi paused, steps falling out of beat before she double-stepped to return to pace. “We made a decision based on branching probabilities and we… chose wrong.”

The admission caught him off-guard, and he knew it showed in his face from how her nose wrinkled at him.

“I _am_ wrong sometimes. I took a chance and it was the wrong one, cut you out of something out of worries I shouldn’t have let control me. When you deal with the sort of people I do you get used to being played, and I didn’t trust my judgement like I normally do.” Her frown split back into a more comfortable grin, tongue poking out between her teeth before she spoke. “That’ll teach me to think I’m anything less than the _best_ at reading people.”

“Your modesty is astounding.”

“Your false flattery tastes like cane sugar, but I’m already taken, Oranges-and-Lemons.” She snickered, letting him out on one arm before he came back in to press to her chest. “And she doesn’t like to share, so let’s keep this strictly business.”

“I’m not even sure what your business _is_.”

“Then won’t it be fun figuring that out together?”

They danced, and each skip and spin brought another rush, a joyous jump in his chest that followed the pull of the melody and kept his heart thrumming to the beat. Even in a dress that had more layers than _any_ dress needed, Terezi moved swift and gracefully, a fighter’s grace turned delicate as she led him around the floor for as long as she seemed to be allowed, dragging the motions out to the very end of the song.

“This was fun,” she cooed at last, pulling back from him to curtsey again. “But Jane should finally be up from the kitchens and I owe _her_ a dance before I make sure Vriska isn’t setting the city on fire.”

“Which one of them is it?” Dirk bowed back, keeping his eyes on her as her shoulder shook with an uncharacteristically silent laugh.

“Wouldn’t _you_ like to know?” Terezi beamed. “But your time with the witness is up, it seems. Your next dance is waiting, Sir Highness.”

“My next dance-”

Dirk turned and wasn’t braced for how hard his shoulder was rapped, jarring down to his bones as Meenah leaned down overdramatically to let him reach her shoulder in turn. Unlike Terezi she had gone for something less red and ridiculous. Her outfit was all cream and gold, hunting leathers turned elegant with delicate edging and embroidered suns.

“Whale look who it is,” she said with that _one_ misplaced vowel, her fanged smile wide as his eyelids fluttered with a contained derisive roll. “Aw, don’t rain on my parade, Dirk, I know you like it really.”

“You’re ridiculous.” He rapped her shoulder anyway, as hard as he could manage, once again letting her take the lead and trying not to be self conscious about the fact she was even taller than Jake and he only just reached the same place his knuckles had struck when she straightened up entirely.

“Eh, you like that, too. Come on, we’ve got a thing going, you know, those random shoulder-smacks in hallways you seemed pretty happy to give before forged a deep connection between the two chillest people in this whole city.”

“I thought they were an unspoken thing, so why are we speaking about them?”

“You kidding? A chance to talk without Aranea or Crabstick turning up outta the deep blue and interrupting us? I’m not passing up on that.” The song was a fraction slower this time, a waltz that had others circling around the hollow left for them as Meenah led him in turns around the inside of it. He twirled easily when she led him to, and if Terezi had held him up with little effort, when Meenah lifted him he was sure she could support his body carelessly with one hand. She ducked gracefully under his arms before guiding his back to her chest, humming as they span. “Did you check out the armory like I told you?”

“I did.” He turned his head a little back towards her before she led him out to the end of her outstretched arm, guiding him back to face her with a flourish. “I’ve never seen that many swords, or that many _variations._ I wish I’d had longer down there before Equius- it’s Equius, right? He caught me and chased me out after I made some, uh… sword comparisons that got him in a mood.”

“Ho boy, he musta been in a state all day. Poor Nepeta.” They turned lazily towards the middle of their hollow as couples crossed around them before pulling apart, even further away than before. “I bet English would take you down there if you asked nice. He’s got a soft spot for you.”

His eyebrows twitched together. “What makes you say that?”

“The fact I’ve got eyes, and ears. You seriously telling me you ain’t been using yours?” Meenah scoffed, stepping back so he could duck under arms and come to stand with back against her again. “Anyway, I wasn’t kidding. You wanna be armed, no matter what noises most servants are gonna make at it.”

“Well if you have a way for me to get any of the collection out of Equius’ slippery hands I’d love to know it.” He let her twirl him once- twice- and came back into hold. “Most I’ve had before outside of training is a knife, but I know my way around something bigger.”

“Oh you _do,_ do you?”

“See shit like _that_ is what had Equius chasing me out of the armory with what I think was a wreck of a bow.”

“Well today is your lucky day, squirt. Nepeta dragged Equius to go look at horses and while he’s having his yearly emotional breakdown over that, there was some guy in his place who doesn’t really know his rules.” Meenah span him away and when he came back she was pressing something into his palm, grinning with all her teeth showing. “And last time I checked, ain’t weird for a King to walk around with a sword at his hip.”

His fingers tightened around the scabbard, feet losing time as he stared at the fine white leather and the gold edging along it, wrapped around the blade whose pale hilt spread in a cross above it. The idea of being armed again had seemed surreal to him for the longest time, the closest he got to it the moments he cleaned Jake’s bows; but there was a sword in his hand, a belt waiting to be tied around a willing waist, and he soaked in the weight as she let him take it, whistling softly and holding it flat between them.

“You’re my favourite,” he told her distantly, letting go entirely to thread the white belt around his corseted waist, ignoring how messy it probably looked to Prospitan eyes. “If this is an attempt to seduce me to the dark side of consorting with spirits, it’s the best attempt anyone’s made so far.”

“Easy there, boy. We ain’t compatible or I’d be all over that, but I’m just here to make sure the new level of risk your face slapped on you doesn’t come without added protection.” She watched him draw the sword enough to admire the blade, made of a curious white metal he’d never seen but didn’t _feel_ magic. He’d started to know the subtle buzz in his fingers, the pins and needles that faded as soon as he noticed it; whatever this was it was thankfully mundane, even if its blade caught the light with wicked sharpness of a sort he’d have expected on a different kind of blade.

“I owe you,” he said when he finally let go and took her hand again, pulled back into a spin as though they hadn’t missed a moment. “Again. I need to stop doing that.”

“Hey, Karkat will be happy I contributed to reminding you we ain’t all evil or something, and when Equius gets back I framed Tavros anyway, so we’re good. I get to kick back and know you’re a little less helpless, and that _someone_ actually made sure of that, someone being _me,_ because I’m _always_ the one who has to do the heavy lifting while everyone else is off doing their plans and their machinations and their dumb political bullshit.”

“Don’t make me admit I like you. I’ve done enough of that for a lifetime today.”

“You don’t have to say it. I got eyes and ears, remember, and unlike _you_ I know how to use them.” Meenah led him into another circle around his space and Dirk felt a deep sense of relief at the weight at his hip, a reminder of the days the Empress let him be and he ended up training with those willing to abide him, moments his shirt was ripped and his sleeves were rolled but a wild smile was on his lips. He closed his eyes to savour it, to savour the certainty of a weapon that would be there if his hand reached for it, and Meenah laughed, nudging his shoulder quickly before she took his wrist again. “Stay with me, kid. You don’t get to bliss out of this party hell if I can’t.”

“I wasn’t expecting to get armed halfway through a dance, okay?” Dirk blinked back to reality, cheeks hot as she smirked at him. “You threw me off.”

“Yeah well I wasn’t expecting to arm you in a ballroom but lo and behold I got a Seer in my face telling me you needed a sword so I came through and got you the goods. Didn’t ask _why,_ before you ask.” She brought them back to the middle, then held him out as they walked forward in timed steps, glancing down her arm at him. “Just be happy it got you a piece of kit and got me an excuse to do some breaking and entering. Been a while since I heisted shit, everyone here’s too eager to just _give_ me what I want, and that’s _boring._ ”

“I’ll take it,” Dirk murmured as she swept him in, dipping him down low as the music ended. For a moment they were still; then she helped him up, stepping back to bow.

“Guess I gotta split. I hear the better Serket’s going to be trashing the town, and I need me some of that.” She winked, snapping her finger and starting to unravel into wine-coloured water that spread into a misty spray. “Later, Strider.”

It was cold when she passed him, and Dirk shuddered, before laughing at himself, at _everything,_ at how _normal_ that felt and how _normal_ it felt to be standing in a hall full of twirling sunset patchworks, knowing the King of Prospit was somewhere in the mix _dressed as him,_ and that he was thinking of that Servant’s outfit as _his_ and _him._ He stared up at the chandelier that shone all shades of gold and molten white, the music rising around him and the crowd keeping apart from him, dresses coming open in floating orbits about the bodies that twirled within them and ringing him in yellow roses.

He could stay here, he realised. He could stay, with the Spirits and the magic, with the smiles and the laughter. He could stay with emerald eyes that held him as an equal, and red ones that turned softer each time they threw an insult his way. Shades of blue that both held mischief and joy, all the rainbow that wasn’t the monster he’d come all this way to behead.

He could stay here, and maybe the guilt would fade. Derse felt far away, ever farther, and its Prince wondered, just for an instant, what would happen if he never went back.

“May I have this dance, Your _Highness_?”

Ice ran down his spine.

For a moment Dirk did nothing but rock on his heels, and then he turned with ringing in his ears, the thoughts snuffed out by a hand extended to him in a rite that had no place in Prospit.

Even dressed in orange and gold, he knew the Dignitary.

The man’s hair was impeccable as ever, his eyes dark and unreadable and his smile courteous and calm. Though he wore the marks of Sun he stood as one of Derse, hand waiting and a warning in his posture that made Dirk’s tongue too thick to sound an alarm he felt he should, to warn anyone there was an Assassin in the Palace, and this one wasn’t a boy handed a knife and given no chance of success.

“If you shout,” the Dignitary told him, casual but softened so no one else would hear, “Roxy Lalonde will die.”

He couldn’t breathe. His fingers were shaking when he took the Dignitary’s hand.

“Good.” He was pulled close, and his feet followed the steps naturally as the song played slow at first, building with each bar. “It’s a shame we seem to have met as players on opposing sides of the board. You could have been something great if you had held to the convictions I see mattered little to you. Dancing with Demons, dressed all in gold? Disappointing at best, disgusting at worst.”

“What do you want?” Dirk nearly whispered it, heart pounding as his eyes darted for anyone he knew, but in the ocean of bodies beyond the island they danced in, he could see nothing but strangers who seemed oblivious to his panic. _Please, someone, Karkat, Jake- Moon be with me, someone, anyone-_

“I’d think it was obvious what I’m here for. I do have a rather _particular_ employment, after all.”

“Are all of you here?”

“Four of us, yes, if you’d like to count. I’m sure Jack would’ve loved to be the one dancing with you, but he does get over-excited, and there’s business to attend to. I’ll tell him you send your deepest hatred, I’m sure he’d enjoy that.” He tightened his grip on Dirk’s hands as Dirk tried to get one free to reach the sword, tutting. “Now, _now_. Hasty actions like that get people hurt. You know better than this, didn’t I teach you the joy in taking things slow?”

“They’ll catch you,” Dirk promised, gripping the hands around his and crushing, though he already knew the effort was futile. “They’ll kill all of you.”

“Ah. There’s the first matter to attend to.” They turned, pace quickening, steps falling mechanically into perfect place. “The Empress is waiting on us, you see. There are four contingencies, as she likes to call us, and if she doesn’t hear back from any of us I am afraid the next face you see from Derse will be your dear Miss Lalonde, but I cannot promise her body will make the same journey.”

“Roxy has _nothing_ to do with this.”

“I’m well aware, and were it my place to choose the dame would have no part in it. But it’s not my part. My part is to do what my boss tells me, and you know better than I do she’s _very_ firm about what she says to do getting _done_.” The Dignitary kept him close, eyes roaming slowly over the crowd before coming to rest on him. “I want you to remember this, Dirk. If all of us die, so does she.”

“You won’t get past the Ward,” Dirk muttered, and all it got back was another patient smile.

“We’ve been in cover here over a year, kid. Didn’t you miss us? We were here before they adjusted their Ward, and we can waltz out any time we like.” He sighed. “Stop trying to make this messier than it has to be. It’s simple. One of us is going to get out of here alive, or the dame dies. That’s what you have to know. That’s _all_ you have to know.”

“Did she tell you to say that?”

“Of course she did.” He laughed and crushed Dirk’s hand in return, smiling more openly at the wince that flashed over Dirk’s face. “You know, a crown looks good on you. Shame about what happened, you know? But that’s just how the cards fall.”

Hurt blossomed, raw and sharp across his thoughts as the same memories of learning to fight and listening to music turned sour with realisation. “You _knew._ ”

“I knew how to keep my mouth shut, too. Something _you_ never learned.”

Dirk’s brow furrowed, pain sparking behind his eyes, something red and angry clawing for his tongue but vanishing before he could find what words it wanted him to say. They span again, quicker, drums rumbling and strings rising; Dirk could see no faces he knew except the one in front of him, and it was that one he focused on as he set his jaw and moved proud despite the cold hollow in his chest.

“So this is it?”

“It does seem to be.” The Dignitary sighed. “You were a good kid, you know? It’s a waste, but-”

“You’re just following orders.”

This time he laughed and sounded almost like he meant it. “It’s just business, kid. Nothing personal.”

“Answer me one thing,” Dirk murmured as a cymbal crashed and percussion rolled like thunder. “Why bother with the poison if she was just going to send you after me anyway?”

The Dignitary paused, then smiled at him, fingers twitching around his hands.

“Ah, kid. That’s not why we were sent here.”

Dirk couldn’t move faster than the Assassin could, not finished feeling his hands were free before he was spun and crushed back against the other man’s chest, a hand forcing his head back as the other slashed a knife across his throat and sent a spray of red out across his vision in an ugly spurt that drew a high scream from someone as it struck and was followed by another. Everything was white hot and ice cold at once, his body was shaking and he couldn’t feel pain, only shock, only _nothing_ , another spurt and everything was sparkling and glistening and quickly growing harder to hold onto.

“You’re the _bait,_ ” a voice he could no longer place whispered in his ear, and then Dirk was falling, and the floor was red with his blood as he struck it. There was numbness in his veins as a dull ache marked the rush of his life from his open neck, and then something crimson and comforting had wrapped around his thoughts, and the screaming sounded like distant bells as it echoed through the ringing in his ears and the world faded to darkness.

_You’re going to die._

He tried to hold on, but he couldn’t move, and when something else dragged at his limbs they barely twitched.

_You’re going to die._

Dirk tried to breathe but he could barely feel anything, couldn’t find his lips and tongue and lungs and the muscles meant to move them. His thoughts were sparking out one by one, exploding into colours across his vision that dimmed into lost sensation.

_We’re going to die!_

He was sorry, last of all; then he wasn’t anything, and the darkness was just void.

 

 

“You don’t get out of it that easily.”

White filled Dirk’s vision as his eyes snapped open. He grasped at his throat, gulping for air, shaking as he forced off the last of the nightmare and grasped for water beside him-

But the water wasn’t there, and nor was anything else. His eyes stung, breaths laboured with panic as he searched the endless light for anything but emptiness, his body tumbling without falling, feet drifting in air so still it hardly seemed like air was even _there._

_You died you died you died-_

“No!” Dirk screamed now he could, screamed with all his might and shuddered when the sound fell stifled and dull. “ _No!_ ”

He kicked and _screamed_ and grasped at his own hair, curling into a shaking ball and whispering _wake up wake up wake up_ until his lips felt dry and his throat felt hoarse, tears long since covering his cheeks until there were no more left to run. He tried to cry out again but nothing came from him but a gasp and a choke; tried to call for someone, anyone, but no one came.

_They’re going to kill him and it’s all your fault._

“No,” he whispered. He’d failed, he’d _failed,_ he couldn’t kill Jake and he couldn’t save him either, he’d _failed-_

“Dirk.”

Hands grasped his shoulder and he startled up, but the white was too bright to make out more than a shadow that slipped in and out of the light. He shoved at first, and then gripped the fabric he felt, dragging it forward and staring at the purple crescent stained with blood, his hands starting to tremor. No, no, no, not like this, not like _this-_

“Dirk, _listen to me._ ”

“I’m sorry!” His voice was hoarse and the words hurt his throat, burned their way out of him. “I couldn’t do it, I wasn’t strong enough. I couldn’t be like you, I couldn’t _do it-_ ”

“ _Listen to me!”_

Red blazed against the white and he was transfixed, a face leaning in just enough he could make out the halo of white around it, features blurred like the memories he’d clung to.

“You won’t have time to think.” He knew the voice but couldn’t place it, knew it as it was muffled and distorted through the pounding in his head. “You have a sword- the moment you wake up, _stab upwards._ ”

“Wh-what-?”

“ _You have to do this._ ” The spectre shook him, eyes flashing with light. “ _You have to save him!_ ”

He was afraid, he was upset, he was shaking and he felt like a child, clinging to Rose’s leg and asking _what happened, what happened, what hasn’t he come home?_

“ _Please don’t leave me,_ ” he grasped at the tunic tighter, holding fast. “Please, don’t _go._ ”

“I was always there,” the answer was further away, distant, white starting to gutter and darkness seeping through the cracks that spread across his vision like his gaze was shattering. “ _Always_! You just have to _look!_ ”

“ _Dave,_ ” Dirk choked, fabric turning to smoke between his fingers, black pouring in to fill his vision and drown him all over again. His words were lost in smothering shadow, his eyes screwing shut against the tide.

_There won’t be time to think._

_There won’t be time to think!_

An opal rainbow blazed through him, and it tore apart the cold.

 

 

“ _Dirk!_ ”

_There won’t be time to think-_

Jane fell sideways from above him as Jake grabbed his shoulders, but Dirk had a hand planted against Jake’s chest to shove back and drag himself upwards, sword tearing out of its scabbard and driving into the hulking body that had leapt forward with an axe in hand. The Brute’s weight was almost enough to knock Dirk back but he moved on instinct, dragging the sword sideways into a deep slice as he rolled with it and sweeping it around before the Brute could recover from a stagger.

His skin trailed a pale rainbow through the air as his sword found the Assassin’s neck, and he forced past the resistance, throwing his weight into the arc of the blow. Adrenaline kept his eyes wide and his skin burning as the blade carved a path unstoppably down, blood spurting in ugly paths as the Brute’s head and body fell apart, heavy on the ground, expression startled when it first struck the floor and then falling slack.

“ _Dirk-_ ” Jake started again, aghast, but Dirk turned, face manic and grip on the blade painfully tight.

“ _There are four!_ ” Dirk couldn’t think clearly but he _knew,_ he knew he had to do this, _there won’t be time to think._ Jane was on the ground and he moved over her, _protect them protect them_ , staring at the panic around them, too many people moving, too many people screaming. “There are four!”

Bodies surging, faces moving, _too many too many too many_ why wouldn’t they _stop,_ he couldn’t see clearly and he couldn’t _think_ -

_There won’t be time to think!_

He saw a motion out of the corner of his eye and didn’t stop, lunging for it and snarling as he knocked the Droll off his feet, the bottle the shorter Dersite had been carrying knocked flying and splashing across the floor, fire rushing over the stain and whipping hot around them. Jake grabbed Jane and dragged her away, and as Dirk brought the hilt of his sword down hard into the Assassin’s face he ignored the flash of _card games, jokes, music, memories_ in favour of the smell of burning varnish and the thought of blood rushing out of his own throat.

Jake grabbed a heavy glass bowl that had been beside Jane and went to help Dirk but was caught midway by a body slamming into his side, a knife slashing up towards his ribs.

_Don’t think._

Dirk threw the sword, and Jack cursed loudly as the blade dug into his shoulder and sent his blow off-track, his body convulsing into a stagger that let Jake kick him away. A blow hit Dirk’s jaw while he was distracted and something crimson flooded him with a darker urge, his arms around the Droll’s head in an instant and no guilt coming at the panic in the man’s eyes before he twisted hard and snapped his neck with a sound like a hammer-strike.

“ _Those were my men you son of a whore!_ ”

Jack’s scream deafened him as the man leapt onto his back. An arm was around Dirk’s throat and he couldn’t breathe, clawing at it with one hand as his other caught the the fist holding Jack’s reclaimed knife and strained to hold it back as Jack fought to bring it down into his chest. Sparks flashed around the edges of his vision as he wheezed, knuckles white and hands shaking as Jack started to win out, blade coming closer, edge wicked and ready to soak in his heart.

“Jake!” Jane screamed, voice raspy. “ _Punch him!_ ”

The knife-point pressed to the fabric above his corset and Dirk felt the sting, growling as he fought to keep it back, stop it driving further, not again, _not again never again-_

Glass shattered around him and Jack’s hand jerked, something wet hitting the back of Dirk’s neck before the body behind him went limp and he threw Jack’s arm away, knife falling from limp fingers and skidding over the floor. Dirk gasped air down and turned to stare at the blood matting Jack’s hair and the glass scattered through it; then he looked up at Jake, stood holding the punch bowl he’d smashed into Jack’s skull hard enough to shatter them both, green eyes wide and shoulders trembling with how stiffly he was standing.

Dirk knew then that Jake had never killed before.

_Who were you protecting?_

They stared at each other, and all Dirk could smell was fire and blood, death and burning flesh where the flames had caught the Brute’s clothes and set his body alight. He was panting, heart painfully fast, and when he finally moved to stand it snapped Jake from his trance, a wavering gasp escaping him.

“There- You said there are four-”

“No- _No._ ” Alarm hit him as his thoughts did, mind slamming back into motion with enough speed to wind him. “No, you have to- You have to let him go!”

“ _What?_ ” Jane was on her feet, staggering, her hands sparking with light as she reached and drew out the glass Jake had held tight enough to spike into his palms. “We can’t let him go, he’ll-”

“He’ll go back to her, I know, _I know,_ but you-” Dirk turned away from her, met Jake’s gaze again, his own eyes wide and desperate. “You have to _trust me._ ”

Jake drew a breath that shook through him, fingers uncurling and the shudder rocking the tense set of his shoulders into a slump as he finally blinked.

“Jane,” he murmured, “ _no one_ goes after him.”

“Jake-!” She started it sharply but he finished it with a look, eyes sharpening back to life. Any sign she might argue left her, and as the last of the glass Jake had held fell like rain to the floor, she glanced at Dirk and ran her glowing hands over the air around his throat when she saw the fresh marks there. “I hope you know what you’re doing.”

“I haven’t known what I’m doing since I got here,” Dirk answered, still watching Jake as the Prospitan turned away. “Where- Where’s Karkat?”

“The Ward- something messed up the Ward, something tried to break through it.” Jake grit his teeth and kicked at the ground, and all the flame rushed out into nothing but blackened soot and ruined wood as he brought his fists up to grasp his hair, messy from where the hood had been haphazardly dragged down. “ _Fuck!_ She planned this, she _knew!_ The Spirits went to help with the Ward because we thought _that_ was the attack but it wasn’t, it was _here,_ it was on _you-_ ”

“It wasn’t on me.” Dirk laughed as Jane’s fingers slid to his jaw. “I was the _bait._ She- She knew you’d- She knew you’d come running.”

 _She used you all the way across the ocean._ Dirk’s stomach was in knots and he pulled his head away from Jane the moment the ache faded, staring down at the bodies by his feet. It had been so fast. If he hadn’t been armed- If he hadn’t known to _strike-_

His gaze blurred. A bloodstained moon and a face he still hadn’t seen clearly. _I was always there._ He didn’t know where to look, he didn’t understand, he’d killed two men and another was running home because of a threat he couldn’t risk being a bluff, and a ghost had warned him of the future before rainbow fire brought him back to life.

“How- How did you-?" He rubbed at his throat and Jane sighed, folding her arms protectively over her chest.

“I can- I can bring people back. Just once. You were out longer than I like, I thought… For a moment I thought I couldn’t…” Her voice trembled to silence, and she shook her head, screwing her eyes shut and turning her face to the ground. “Don’t do that again, never do that, I only get one time! You stupid- _stupid idiot!_ You don’t get to die on us, alright? Maybe before, but then you went and had to be worth saving-”

She stepped back when he reached for her on instinct, and his hands flinched back, stung by the rejection that shouldn’t have surprised him but still _did_ in the rush of everything else.

“I- I have to tell the Guards to increase security, I have to deal with this, I have to-”

“Go,” Jake ordered, and Jane was gone, off into the crowd that was settling into frightened murmurs and anxious confusion. Their King, even dressed as he was, stared across the burn on the floor, then lifted his head, raising his voice to an unnatural boom and silencing the room in an instant.

“On our day of celebration the false Empress of Derse sent murderers to claim my life, striking like a coward from her den when she knew I was most vulnerable. She used our good grace and our faith against us, and thought it would be enough to end my life.” He stared across the faces he could see, the mass of people beyond, fists growing tight at his sides. “She thought our trust and our care made us _weak,_ like others have before her. She thought she could use what was good in us, and use it to lay us low.”

Jake’s shadow crept up the wall, rushing up like a waterfall defying the laws of the world, his silhouette towering over the crowd as its mouth and eyes turned gold and followed his motions when he raised his hands.

“The Empress has long thought she can claim this city for her own. She killed our Queen, she drove our King to madness, and now as we stand defiant she would try and kill another in a time of joy and remembrance! She would see us with our heads held high and think only of slitting our throats!” He looked out with eyes that poured golden fire and on the wall his echo did the same, hands spread to the crowd and body tense with rage. “She thinks she knows how to break us, _but we are not weak!_ We will not cower, we will not shatter as others have! For the Moon is bright in darkness but the Sun blazes so fierce that it turns all the world to gold, and she may try to strike from the shadows but _we_ will always take the _day!_ ”

The mood was changing, fears evaporating, something in his passion that carried from face to face and voice to voice, weak whispers of terror reforged in his heated words into firmer affirmations. Dirk couldn’t move, entranced as Jake stepped forward and clenched his fists on high.

“We are not _cowards!_ We are not _hers_ to bend to her will with _fear_ as much as we are not hers to command with words! Many times she has struck at us, and many times she thinks she has almost won- but she has _lost,_ time and time again, and while she wallows in the darkness _we remain, strong in the light!_ ”

Voices rose, hands with them, a cheer that flashed out not like a ripple but like a storm, sweeping the whole ocean into a wild crash of noise and motion.

“She thinks our faith makes us _weak,_ but it gives us strength! She thinks our trust is our _undoing,_ but in it we have _each other_ and _resolve she will never break!_ We are not the pawns of Derse, we are the _proud people of Prospit,_ and our hearts are forged in the same fires as our blades! Our souls are gilded as brightly as the Palace we stand in!”

Another cheer, a chant, a call. _Ours is the day! The Sun still burns!_

“She wants you to tell stories of the men who betrayed us, of the men who would have had my head! She wants you to spread fear, and rumours, and lies! But we will not be her messengers! _We will not bow to what she wants!_ If you tell a story, do not tell the story she has written for you! Do not tell the story that ends in her glory! _”_

There before Dirk was a great King before his people, endless in his majesty, and Dirk’s breath was stolen when Jake turned and spread a hand out towards him.

“Tell the story of the Prince whose throne she stole, who saved my life without thought for his own!” Jake blinked out the fire and it licked away through his lashes as he met Dirk’s gaze and held it, conviction unyielding, belief blazing in his eyes brighter than the magic ever could. “Remember there is good in Derse, and they are not our enemy! Remember it is a tyrant who holds them in chains, and it is _her_ we will see ended for all that she had done to _both_ our cities, to _both_ our homes!”

Dirk reached without thinking and Jake let him, their palms pressed flat together and nothing but hope in Jake’s features.

“I live, and Prospit lives with me. Tonight lanterns burn and the darkness shall not have us; tomorrow and always, Prospit rises with the Sun, and burns in endless glory!”

The hall was a mess of emotion and noise but Dirk couldn’t hear it, Jake’s fingers lacing with his and gripping tightly as the image on the wall faded and Jake sighed out green magic on his breath. Dirk gripped his hand, knuckles pale beneath the gloves, music bursting into life across the crowd as the celebration spilled back over and didn’t stop in the face of death, didn’t stop in the face of blood and betrayal.

“Dirk Strider,” Jake finished, words soft between them, “by the grace of your Goddess and all the oaths that I can give, I promise you that I will bring moonlight back to what she has cloaked in shadow, and I will give you back your home.”

“I trust you,” Dirk told him, and he had never known anything so certainly.

“ _I trust you,_ ” he promised, and there was nothing else left to say.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Some more cool things from the AU! I've started answering questions about the AU so you can [read up on a load of extra lore](http://khemi.tumblr.com/tagged/kots+au), and will be posting headcanons and more using #kots au on [Tumblr](http://khemi.tumblr.com/)! You can [ask me anything](http://khemi.tumblr.com/ask), and I've loved answering all the questions I've got so far.
> 
> There's also a [complete cast picture here](http://khemi.tumblr.com/post/145116363257/im-not-sure-who-you-wanted-but-heres-everyone) of all my headcanons for the characters and all their outfits, now in My Own Style. It was a bit of an undertaking but really fun to do, and I hope anyone who's been wanting some more solid references enjoys it!
> 
> As always, I'll try to answer every comment, and thank you so much for reading! I'm glad people are enjoying this AU as much as I'm enjoying writing it, and I hope you like what I still have in store.


	6. Under the Red Sun

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dirk has been left with a lot on his mind and soon he has enough on his hands to match it. Everyone in Prospit has their own agenda, and the Dersite is no different- but is what he thinks he wants as clear as it used to be? And does he really know what he's setting in motion by chasing the red that lurks behind his eyes?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There's a lot to get through here and it's going to stay that way, but the consensus seems to be long chapters are preferred, so I hope you enjoy what that entails! There's a _lot_ of new fanart and other content in the [KotS tag on my blog](http://khemi.tumblr.com/tagged/kots+au), so check that out! And as usual, I'll be doing a KotS Q&A after posting, so come drop me a line and [ask a question](http://khemi.tumblr.com/ask) if you'd like!

 

Dirk’s skin felt warm as Karkat’s cinders faded from around him and he caught the wall, panting and swigging down the water in the glass he’d been handed before the spirit sent him on his way to Jake’s room with a snap and a flare of brimstone. This time his knees hadn’t buckled entirely at least, and he considered that a success, even if Karkat’s words had left him doubting the discomfort would ever fade.

_At least not until-_

This time he chased the thoughts, but they slipped away, though he was too exhausted to dwell on it. Maybe when he dreamed, if it was more than a delusion, maybe he’d see red again and have a chance to _catch_ it.

Karkat had stared at him with a troubled expression when he filled the space after the spirit’s apology for leaving with the question he needed answered, if it could’ve been real, if it _was_ real. _John’s never managed,_ Karkat reminded him, _and trust me, he’s fucking tried more than you can imagine._

Maybe John couldn’t find him because he’d been _occupied._

Karkat’s frown had been deep, but he’d nodded despite it. _Maybe._

Dirk set the glass down on the table and sighed heavily, rubbing a hand up over his face and going to push his hair back before his fingers hit metal and he stopped, running his fingertips over the Crown and letting his eyes unfocus. Jake had left once everything was cleared, left him to the dance and the food, to the wide berth some people gave him or the excited chatter and thanks others brought. It had been clear the room was divided on what to think of his actions; not in that they were necessary, no, he had heard nothing but approval of his willingness to throw himself into danger for Jake- but the very fact he had been so quick to take off a man’s head, to break the neck of another… There was something to fear in a man who would kill without hesitation, no matter the cause.

Yet still, not everyone feared him.

Dirk looked down at his hand, curling his fingers slowly into his palm. It likely didn’t mean the _same_ in Prospit, but for people who jumped at so much as a lingering touch to their shoulder, it meant _something,_ and he wasn’t sure how he felt about how open the gesture had been. Still- it was the first time his hand had been held in his clear memory since he’d left Derse, foggy thoughts of someone guiding him distant and barely clear enough for him to trust as more than dreams. It was the first time he’d been touched by another human and it had lasted more than a few moments. The first time he’d found comfort in someone holding him for the sake of _holding him._

He closed his eyes and let his breath shudder out, dropping his chin to his rest against his chest. He hadn’t realised how much he’d _missed_ moments like that. Karkat holding his shoulders and not letting go, Jake taking his hand- he’d missed being held and holding others, and even if this was all he would get he would cling to it.

Finally, he admitted to himself what he’d been denying since the lonely nights away from Derse had begun to drag on too long; despite everything, despite all that he hated and all he knew he should feel, he missed the comfort of small touches and the luxury of bare skin, even knowing the price it had brought with it.

Nausea rose at that. Even after what she’d done, he _missed_ it, he missed the moments he’d been good and she’d-

The moments he’d-

But she’d never… She hadn’t touched him, she’d never- _never-_

The words stuck in tar in his brain as the thoughts that had come naturally a moment before fell to a messy stop of gaps and unwanted confusion. His nose was stinging and he was glad he was alone as he gasped out a small sound that was too wet, too unguarded for his liking, forcing the threadbare memories back out of sight and clenching his hands tightly at his sides.

_You’re hurting yourself._

Dirk blinked away the water welling in his eyes as the pain behind his eyes spiked, pressing his palms into them and groaning softly. Alright, good, the urges were becoming easier to discern as _words_ and he didn’t know how to feel about that, didn’t know how to feel about _anything._

“I don’t understand,” he told the room aloud.

“Don’t understand what?”

Oh. Of _course._

Dirk turned to stare at Jake, hulking in the doorway with a flush to his cheeks and a slight haze to his eyes, his hand gripping the frame firmly to support himself as he gave a concerned frown.

“You know beating your gums all on your lonesome is rather bizarre and even if you’re balled up over all the highfalutin’ palava we got dragged through don’t go taking wooden sovereigns over the malarkey when you weren’t left holding the bag,” Jake told him with an accusing point, slipping in and getting the door shut on the second try. “I mean whatever her hoods were playing at we might not know from nothing but at least we’re all up and together and up and up despite it, right?”

Dirk stared at him as the hood came down and Jake’s messy hair spilled out of it. “I have no idea what you just said.”

“That’s dandy, nor do I.” Jake grinned lopsidedly, flicking his fingers at him and making them both jump like fired crossbows. “Got a bit buzzed, alright? Hard day and harder days coming and after Karkat had his beef out and his eyes on you I might’ve had a few glasses of sunshine and a few more of moonshine to boot.”

“You’re the strangest drunk I’ve ever met if _this_ is what it does to you.”

“ _And how._ ”

Jake pulled his collar over his head and started an attempt at the arms that didn’t get very far before he was clearly tangled awkwardly in the smallest piece of fabric known to man, and Dirk collected his nerves from his brief falter, wiping his eyes dry as he moved over and pat Jake until he stopped squirming. It was easy to get the jacket unhooked, and Dirk dangled the offending article at Jake once it was off, snorting when it was snatched out of his hand.

“And somehow you survived _how_ long without anyone to help you undress?” Dirk rolled his eyes and undid the cloak across his shoulders, setting it neatly down on the dresser. “I’m astounded by your tenacity.”

“It wasn’t hard, but having a hand can be the berries for sure, especially one who slays me like you do.”

“If you recall, slaying you is the exact _opposite_ of what I’ve done.”

“Ha! You’re a riot.” Jake pushed his hand up his reddened cheek and back through his glossy hair, giving another smile that lit up his whole face and had his eyes shining. “Diamond in a landfill, or… maybe just the brightest one in a whole diamond necklace that’s just hanging ‘round a mare’s backside, but I’m still chewing cud on that one. You hear a lot of things, it’s hard to- ah, well, you know how it is, don’t you? Bet you’re still waiting for us to tear the masks off and all be a cabal of cannibals or something. Fancy that.”

Dirk paused, Jake’s tone cheery but his senses not quite quick enough to stop the hurt that showed in his eyes. It stung more than Dirk had thought it would, even now. He lifted his hand and touched the back of it to Jake’s shoulder, shaking his head. “...I don’t think that. Prospit isn’t what I thought it was.”

He dropped his hand but Jake caught it, ignoring Dirk’s inhale to look over his fingers instead, running a thumb over Dirk’s palm.

“Nor are you,” he said quietly, mumbled in a thoughtful slur. “Not what I thought, I mean. I had it in my head you were going to cop out on me, wake me with a knife or put me out with a nightshade nightcap. Wanted to see the best, always want to, but the best’s hard to see when all the world’s intent on raining right over your measly parade.”

Jake smiled at something, as Dirk tried hard not to curl his fingers and ruin the moment, to jar him out of whatever mood had let him give one more moment of contact. Jake glanced at him, then back down, face growing troubled. “...I really wasn’t thinking, that first night. I should’ve let you tear yourself apart, shouldn’t I? It would’ve been safer. And you know in all the rush I… I didn’t think about so many things. Didn’t think about the why or the who or something like gloves- You start being so used to them you just figure they’re always on, I guess, but they weren’t, and you sure as rain didn’t have any either.” He laughed at himself. “Look at me! Look at me. I’m a mess over _this_. People are out there losing far worse and I’m here fretting because someone finally crossed my palms with theirs and it was some Dersite rat crawled in off my roof to bite at all my fingers.”

“A rat, huh?” Dirk risked it, and Jake shook his head hard, waving his other hand.

“ _No,_ no, not anymore, I didn’t mean that, I… I don’t mean that, I mean, I _did,_ I really did, and I think I hate myself a little for it.” He squeezed, the pressure making Dirk’s fingers curl in around his thumb. “It’s easy to hate someone you’ve never met. It’s easy to make them something they’re not where you can’t see the colour in their face or the fear in their…”

Their gazes met, and Jake faltered.

“You’d never killed anyone,” Dirk filled the silence, unable to ignore the fact Jake was yet to let go.

“No.” Jake swallowed. “I’d had a wild fancy I’d never have to, but I’ve always been a sap for things like that, figuring my hands’d be clean if I wanted, that nothing would ever come slap me silly with what people have to do to survive. That was my cock-up for believing it.”

“You didn’t have a choice-”

“There’s always a choice.” Jake’s grip tightened, and Dirk felt it, the uncomfortable shift in his knuckles and the bite of the glove against his palm. “I could’ve knocked him away! I could’ve done _something,_ but he was going to hurt you and all I could think was if I was too slow we didn’t get a second shot!”

“You didn’t have to save me, Jake.”

“Oh, _piss off._ That’s the biggest load of cockamanie you’ve spouted yet and you spout enough baloney to keep a butcher in business!”

Dirk looked down at their hands when Jake’s intense expression grew too much to meet, closing his fingers entirely before an odd thought struck him, settled in and refused to be shifted. The silence dragged; he finally snapped and spoke.

“I’m still King, aren’t I?”

“Until midnight, yes, so you’ve got, oh,” Jake squinted at the ceiling, murmuring under his breath before he announced, “a good few minutes at least.”

“And as my Servant you’d do what I say?”

“If you’d do the same in my place, I may as well jump in both feet and say why the bloody hell not, right?”

Dirk drew air in, let it go, avoiding Jake’s eyes as the words tumbled out before he could rethink it. “...I want you to hold my hand.”

“Sure you’re not Terezi in a damn good suit, pal, because I’m already grasping it fine.”

“No.” Another breath, another chance to back out that he pushed forward through instead. “Like… like the first night I was here.”

Jake’s smile stuck in place, his hand going slack around Dirk’s, and shame spread through Dirk’s chest before anything else could. He pulled his hand away fast, turning away entirely. “Sorry- Sorry, _shit,_ I know it means weird stuff here, I shouldn’t have asked.”

The layers came off of him like a waterfall, one tumbling after the other as his fingers dropped between the laces without pause and folded each jacket and shirt and other scrap of cloth with practised flicks and barely a tremble. Dirk tried to ignore the deafening silence as he finished and stood with just the gloves clinging to his arms, untouched, and the underclothes left hanging from his waist. He felt stupid; it was like he’d proclaimed love in a crowded market and brought all the scorn of the Citadel down on himself, but here and now it mattered _more,_ a fragile bond he’d pushed too far with a request he didn’t know the weight of, something that seemed so simple and plain but was distorted through a golden lens into something _meaningful_ in ways he didn’t know.

At last he heard a motion behind him, and it forced him to turn, his cot behind Jake and sleep not something shame could keep him from forever.

Jake was looking at him in a way he couldn’t place, eyes dark with thought and brows furrowed. His cheeks had darkened further than the drink had left them, teeth pressing dips into his bottom lip that would linger, and with a slow mumble that rumbled up from his chest too low to discern clearly Jake met Dirk’s eyes and nodded slowly, lifting his hand between them, inner wrist turned upwards.

It was only when Dirk overcame the shock of the approval that he realised what was being asked of him, reaching out and nervously pulling apart the laces that held the glove in place. The fabric came apart slowly, a sliver of Jake’s dark skin spreading amongst the white into a dart of life among the cotton, the contrast heavier than between Dirk’s hands as they lightly took it and slipped the glove from him entirely. He rubbed his own hands together, stroking over his wrists before he finally offered his hand with a tremor in it, staring down at it and feeling his shoulders going tight as Jake cupped it in his bared palm and started on the laces in return.

It seemed ridiculous that this felt the way it did given all he’d lived through, but as Jake hooked the wool and glove above it and urged it down, Dirk felt barer than he’d ever been, mind thankfully too dazed for him to really dwell on _why._

“Can we sit down?” Jake asked, voice seeming loud despite how softly the words were spoken. Dirk nodded, at a loss of what else to _do._

“Sure.”

They ended up sitting on the edge of Jake’s bed, feet between the bed and the cot, both rubbing awkwardly over their uncovered fingers and sitting tensely with a pointed space between them. The whole ritual, and Dirk felt it _was_ a ritual, was as strange as it was effective in reducing him to a nervous mess of a man. He’d done more than this before, _far_ more-

But that hadn’t _meant_ anything, had it?

“What does it mean to touch someone, in Derse?” Jake glanced at him, setting his bare hand against the covers and curling his fingers into it. Dirk shrugged, rubbing the back of his neck with his gloved hand as his other curled nervously against his thigh.

“It… doesn’t really mean much.” He laughed, the words reminding him how stupid this all was. “A comfort, mostly; it’s hardly anything compared to what’s expected between friends, even.”

Jake nodded slowly, and Dirk watched his face, wetting his own lips.

“...What does it mean in Prospit?”

“Nothing that matters here. That’s not the thought behind it, I don’t think, not in my pan anyway. Better to go with what’s on the table, I fancy, and leave the rest in bed.”

With that, Jake took his hand.

It wasn’t any sort of revelation, but it felt like pressure Dirk hadn’t felt building suddenly escaped, rushing out of him in a stuttered breath as the heat of Jake’s palm covered his knuckles. He turned his hand into it, closing his eyes to focus on the sensation of their fingers lacing and how entirely Jake’s covered his narrower palm, the difference between them palpable in how small he felt within Jake’s grasp and how warm the other felt against him in the space where their tight hold pressed their lined skin together.

This was nothing; the smallest gesture. A comfort he’d taken for granted in long nights Roxy had tangled their fingers and refused to let go, something that had been a chore when nobles weren’t satisfied his chain was keeping him close enough and seized his hand instead. He didn’t understand why it felt so different in the quiet gloom as the lights burned low and they sat together, still and silent but for breaths that seemed too loud in his ears. He didn’t understand how he could have ever wasted something like this; or more likely, how something never worth paying attention to before now held him so rapt with its every little facet.

Jake’s thumb trembled as it started to stroke a gentle path over his knuckle, and Dirk felt every slow pass, and every moment of fading heat that lingered in its wake.

It felt an eternity later that their hands came apart, and Dirk couldn’t place who’d let go, or if the reluctance in the motion was as shared as he might have imagined. No words came to fill the absence and he slipped down onto his cot, taking off the other glove and setting it aside before he pulled his blanket up and over himself and listened to the bed creak as Jake finally stripped down and then settled himself. For a while he stared at the wall as the last of the lights winked out and darkness took them; then he raised his head, turning enough to speak over his shoulder.

“Guess you’re King again, right? Everything’s back to how it was.”

Silence stayed long enough he thought Jake wouldn’t answer and let his head drop again, before his ears caught a faint sigh.

“I’ve been King since before you finished undoing your belt,” Jake murmured, “and after today I’m not sure if anything will really stay the same.”

There was a lot to tell from glances in the golden halls.

Dirk had been apprehensive when he started down towards John’s cave, forced to make the trip alone when Jake explained there was a full Court waiting which demanded answers and expected their King to see to it they received them. For all he’d been assured there were _plans,_ there were _defences,_ it seemed to him it should be obvious what had really happened and what it really _meant._ His mask surely held no more purpose; if his very presence hadn’t been obvious enough, _Jake’s_ shared presence must have been.

And yet, despite it all, he found most Courtiers he passed didn’t even spare a moment to look at him, treating him with the same indifference they always had. One time he even overheard them lamenting that he had wasted his chance to introduce himself to the Court- and that had him pressing the back on his hand over his mask, eyes wide and a laugh catching in his throat.

His assumptions had been based on the Prospit Court being as suspicious as the House of Knights was in Derse. Apparently, that was _far_ from the truth.

Other eyes caught his with more knowing looks, amongst the dismissive flow of nobility. Guards smiled at him, but he saw them shift to something closer to attention; servants whispered and watched him with a new kind of awe, and when he inclined his head to them it earned him not the giggles it might’ve once, but _pride,_ glowing in brown eyes. They weren’t such fools, and they had taken the time to admire his eyes and know them, to know _him._

_How do you know me,_ he’d asked a noble, and the man hadn’t know him at all- but there, in the gazes of those forgotten by their masters, _there_ was the recognition he’d been chasing.

“You’ve made quite a name for yourself,” Karkat interrupted the thoughts as he blinked beside Dirk and left a mist of burning wood fading in the air. “Not like you hadn’t _already,_ but now there’s actually a _name_ involved, so that’s better than _that one asshole, that prick,_ or my personal favourite, _the King’s royal douchebag._ ”

“No one calls me that.”

“Excuse me? _I_ call you that and I’m offended you’d insinuate otherwise.”

Dirk laughed, but it was hard to keep the mood when questions rose instantly to trample it, his smile dimming away unseen before he turned and looked Karkat over, noting the darker shadows under his eyes and the sallow of his skin where ruddy tones were meant to lay. “...How has it been?”

“Everyone’s pissed we were played, but if they put it in perspective they should be _more_ pissed about what us being played _means._ ” Karkat grit his teeth, curling his lip from beneath the sun. “It was a _big_ incursion, which means either someone on the inside gave someone out there information about how the Ward _works, or_ it means that it wasn’t an incursion from the human realm at all, and I don’t want to _begin_ thinking about the shitstorm that’s blowing in if _that’s_ true.”

“Someone could try and get in from somewhere else?” Dirk has heard enough to know there _was_ a _somewhere else,_ the place the spirits dwelled when they weren’t summoned, a realm in which vaster things lurked beyond the awareness of humans. He’d never thought of it being able to touch his own world beyond its summoned inhabitants, however, and given the way even spirits spoke of it in hushed tones from time to time, he wasn’t sure he _wanted_ that to be a reality he had to consider.

“The Ward is part of both worlds. That’s what makes it tick. You get a big shimmery mess of fuck knows what on this side, and if you step in then it’s like a weave made out of different realms in a lattice and _poof,_ you get dragged into all of them at once and that’s what kills you- Unless you’ve got the right _key_ or whatever in you, when the Ward gets realigned or the people involved decide to bestow it on you, because then the lattice changes when you touch it and you only pass through the parts of _this_ realm that are in there.” He laced his fingers and wiggled them to illustrate the point somehow. “So if an outsider tries to walk in right now? Time for human spaghetti across all eleven dimensions. If one of us tries to walk out? No problem, because we’ve got the right password sparkling all over our souls.”

“One of _you_ ,” Dirk corrected, and Karkat gave the most dramatic sigh he could muster.

“One of _us,_ dipshit. Jake didn’t actually _want_ you _exploding_ if you decided to chance it, he made us attune you to the Ward after a week of you proving you weren’t about to murder anyone. Don’t look at me like that, come on.” Karkat grimaced. “Go on, say someone should’ve told you you could leave! And then tell me honestly you _wouldn’t have,_ because you’d have been long gone before you gave anyone an actual chance.”

Dirk turned his face away, ignoring the truth in it, and how thinking that way seemed a lifetime further from him than it was. “I don’t like secrets.”

“Well tough shit, Dirk! People keep secrets, a _lot_ of secrets, but in Prospit it’s usually because they’re scared, or trying to do good by doing it, or because something no one thought to tell you isn’t the same as actively hiding it. And yeah, it’s shit! It’s _absolute crap._ But not every secret is a bad one and not everyone who hides something is doing it to hurt you, and I’m-” Karkat’s voice softened, hand catching Dirk’s shoulder for a moment and squeezing once. “I’m sorry that you’re so used to people who treat you that way that it feels like it’s the only possibility there is.”

“Hah. The only person who never hid secrets from me is _me,_ and I’m not even sure _that’s_ true anymore.” The things that wouldn’t fit, the holes he’d never noticed- Had they been taken from him or had he been the one to cut them out? He didn’t know the answer to that, and it scared him. “I thought I was a cynic for thinking everyone is hiding something from me, but I guess I was just being realistic.”

Karkat sighed, and then his hand was up and his own hood was down, the mess of curls below spilling out to the horrified gasp of a nobleman nearby who picked up his pace hurriedly as Karkat shook his hair out and took Dirk’s arms, turning him so they were facing each other.

“I’m hiding things from you,” he said flatly. “Some things because I don’t think you need to know them, some things because I don’t think you _can_ know them, and some things because if I had my own way you’d already know but I don’t get to make that decision without betraying the trust of people I can’t hurt that way. Someday you’re going to find some of those things out, and you’re going to be upset, and you might even hate me because I didn’t tell you. And if you feel like that- okay. You know what? That’s up to you and it isn’t my place to tell you how to react, so I’ll take whatever you throw at me when that time comes- But I want you to know that I have _never_ hidden anything from you because I wanted to hurt you, and I will _never_ do anything to cause you pain. You’re my friend, and I… I’m not going to get all of this right and some of it was a fucking mess long before you got thrown into the picture, but Moon help me I’m going to make sure it’s not _your_ mess, and I’m going to make sure that anyone who does anything to you that upsets you or harms you or fucks with you- That if they’re still in once piece when you’re done with them, they _won’t be_ by the time _I’m_ through.”

“I can fight my own battles,” Dirk said instead of acknowledging the rest, and Karkat clicked his tongue irritably, smacking Dirk’s shoulder.

“I _know,_ jackass, but I’m sure as day going to mop up any trash that manages to get away from you. At least… as long as you let me.” His fingers curled as they fell, the sun back over his face in an instant. “And if you don’t I’m not about to walk over you. That’s not what I’m here for.”

“What _are_ you here for, Karkat?”

“It’s been centuries and I’m still figuring that out, but I’ll get back to you if I have an epiphany. Until that comes, I’m just doing the best I can and trying not to fuck things up worse than I already have, and that seems to be the only fucking path to take that doesn’t involve walking straight off a cliff into a lake full of sharks and acid.” Karkat started walking, pausing just long enough for Dirk to take the hint and catch up before he carried on. “Right now my plans extend as far as keeping whatever fragile semblance of friendship I’ve managed to earn as strong as possible so it might last more than one season without turning into a rancid pile of pointless meat. Get back to me after you start despising me and I’ll tell you how I think it went, and what I’ll have to do next time to prevent another colossal failure.”

“Why are you so convinced I’ll hate you?” Dirk glanced across, brows dropping with concern.

“People usually do,” Karkat shrugged. “But who knows. Maybe for once I’ll be surprised.”

“If I’ve learned one thing since I arrived it’s that being surprising is one of my finest qualities. I may as well put it to good use. Besides...” He hesitated, watching the tiles vanish beneath his own feet with each step as the pattern flowed like water past them, then nodded to himself. “In some messed up way telling me you’ve got secrets is the most honest anyone’s been with me. Whenever that day comes you’re so afraid of, I’m gonna remember you told me now, yeah? That counts for something.”

“It’s easy for you to say that _now._ ”

“Maybe, but I mean it. That might change, it might not; all I can do for sure is hope you’re wrong.”

“And if I’m not?”

“Then we both lose.” Dirk didn’t bother coating it in anything sweet, rolling his eyes instead at the path Karkat seemed intent on leading them down. He'd had enough self-loathing discussions with a mirror to know it too well to stumble blindly along it, and no matter his opinions on his own place there, he wouldn't let someone he cared for make the same mistakes. “The only real friend I had before you used to tell me good people do bad things, sometimes, and bad people can do good. It's _why_ they choose to act that matters. I believe you, that your intent isn't to hurt me; and even if I still _am_ hurt, an apology I know is earnest will heal more than one given as a chore.”

“Look at you, going soft at the edges.” Karkat’s eyebrows twitched, though thankfully they finally lifted from their worried slump. “For a Dersite there's been an appalling lack of machinations in your choices.”

“I tried being like that, when I was younger. It didn't work out so well.”

“Did the Empress not enjoy you having a spine?”

Dirk hesitated, for once glad the mask hid most of his expression behind it. He still recalled her expression when she spoke of his plans that he'd thought were hidden; still recalled the pride in her voice when she curled her fingers beneath his chin and cooed _there's hope for you yet, boy._

“...No good would've come of it,” he explained without answering, dodging the question and the uncomfortable ghosts of manicured nails against his skin. “It was hard to let it go, but I did what I had to do.”

“You put that part of you to bed before she could do it for you?”

“I've always thought of it more like locking those things in a box.” Dirk traced the shape of the imagined prison with his hands, almost tangible in his thoughts as he pictured it. “You put them somewhere deep enough they don’t show anymore and it means people can’t see them in your eyes, can’t use them against you.”

“That sounds well adjusted,” Karkat lied bluntly.

“I never claimed to deal with things _well._ Only to _deal with them._ ” He dropped the box that wasn’t there, the dreamt weight leaving his hands as they fell to his sides. “Derse isn’t exactly a city of _well adjusted_ people.”

“Nor is Prospit. They just hide it under smiles here, instead of shoving it into a crate or something- Which is no _better,_ but whatever. You humans keeping doing whatever humans fucking do and I just get to stand here watching with a sense of inescapable horror and confusion.”

“Are you telling me Spirits are much better?”

“Hah!” He barked out a laugh and smacked Dirk’s shoulder. “That's _hilarious._ Have you _met_ us? We’re a walking disaster with the added bonus of our pissy fits of self-disparaging despair possibly causing ignition, explosions, inexplicable flooding or straight-out spontaneous fuckery.”

“I feel so reassured.”

“Look, if I ever have a fit of destructive angst I'll try and aim it away from you.” Karkat drew an arc through the air, wiggling his fingers. “The power of friendship.”

Dirk grinned behind his mask, ducking his head anyway to hide the smile that might show in his eyes. He was almost disappointed when he caught sight of the changing pattern on the floor and realised he was further than he thought, his gaze rising to see the gateway down towards John’s cavern ahead in the wall of the hall that had become devoid of life but for the two of them. This walk always felt slower when he was alone.

“I don’t suppose you’re going to be joining us?” He looked to Karkat hopefully, but the spirit shook his head.

“Normally I might’ve, but with everything how it is right now I don’t want to be further from the rest of my asshole collective than I have to be. The moment I look away I just _know_ everything will implode into some disastrous pile of steaming shit and I’ll be the one who has to try and excavate whatever’s salvageable.”

“Should I tell John you said _fuck you_?”

“He knows I’m always telling him to go fuck himself in my heart.”

Dirk waited long enough to watch Karkat burn up from the inside, spreading his fingers through the falling ash before he started on the long descent. Without company, it was hard to stop his mind falling back to Karkat’s warning, the urgency in his eyes when he told Dirk the truth of his secrets and admitted in the same breath that he was keeping them for others, that others were still lying and hiding things and that Dirk had to simply trust that they were doing it for the best of reasons. It wasn’t easy to think about, let alone to begin to accept. Lies were painful, vicious things; secrets had torn his life apart before and no matter how he’d come to trust those around him now, the fear his life would go to pieces again was hard to set aside.

He didn’t want to lose this. He didn’t want to lose any of the people he’d met here, or the life he’d come to _enjoy_ somehow. He didn’t want to face a day that wasn’t laced with gold, and that was… _unsettling,_ the more he let himself admit it. Derse was home and he’d felt relief when Jake promised him a chance to take it back, yet here he was not a day later considering- once _again-_ if he really wanted to go back at all.

There were far too many steps and far too much time to consider it, but neither brought him closer to an answer.

Instead they brought him to the familiar fresh breeze that he dropped his mask and hood to drink of, gaze settling on where John waiting by his table and amusing himself by pouring wine beneath two cups in midair. They settled back to the wood when Dirk whistled, and John swept them both up as he jogged over, offering one with a grin.

“It sounds like I missed one heck of a party!” John clinked the glasses as soon as Dirk had taken one, sipping his own and gesturing Dirk to follow him towards the edge of the stone. “The last time we had competent Assassins in the Palace I nearly knocked over a whole wing of it! Those were the days. Well… Not really. But they weren’t so _cavey._ ”

“If you hadn’t done things like nearly destroy the Palace, maybe you wouldn’t be in the shame cave.”

“It is my burden, Dirk. My punishment. I alone atone for my sins in the cave of past mistakes, and sometimes Karkat reminds me there’s actually a world upstairs but it’s probably not ready to have me back without, you know! The whole _murder_ thing coming back up.”

“How tragic.” Dirk downed the wine, deciding rather rapidly that he was _far_ too sober for this. “Can’t they let a little thing like years of tyranny slide?”

“I guess not. It’s their loss! At least the Spirits appreciate me.”

“The Spirits and that mysterious Denizen I’m starting to think is just another one of your Moon-damned salamanders.”

John beamed at him. “You’ve met Casey?”

“If by _met_ you mean Tavros thought it’d be _hilarious_ to knock me the fuck over with a giant salamander to the face after I made fun of him getting his horns stuck in a tree- yes. Yes I have met your weird blubbery _thing._ ” Dirk wrinkled his nose, gesturing with the glass. “So is the Denizen just another one of those slippery assholes but even bigger and mystical or am I still off?”

“You aimed for the target and shot the judge through the face instead.”

“I think that’s an improvement. This time the stadium didn’t burn down, I notice.”

“You might get there eventually, Dirk! Maybe. In like… a few centuries.” John set the glass spinning in nothingness and cracked his knuckles, looking up into the mist with a pleased hum. “You want an interrogation, right? That’s what Jake said- Or what _Terezi_ said Jake said, anyway, which means it was probably Jane who really said it!”

“I don’t really _want_ anything, but Jake told me it was the best way to get information that didn’t come through a Crocker filter.”

“Jane would be wounded.”

“I think _my_ wound gives me the moral high ground, here.” He absently ran his fingers over his throat, hating that he could still feel the more sensitive curve where his skin had knit back together. “There’s no way Jane didn’t know I was at risk, that there were spies. I’ve spent enough time with her to know she probably _wanted_ to draw them out.”

“She didn’t want it to go how it did,” John countered, flatly. “Maybe she wanted to use the situation to her advantage, but she didn’t want you to get hurt in the process. That isn’t how Jane works, she’s not like that, she’s not like-”

“-You?”

John’s jaw set, barely noticeably, and Dirk snorted softly, shaking his head. “...Yeah. I don’t think she made plans that included _Dirk gets his throat cut open and gets to feel what it’s like to bleed out,_ but if she’d told me _anything_ I might’ve been more prepared. I didn’t even know what was happening until yesterday morning.”

“Jake thought you’d be less nervous-”

“-And there’s no way he decided that alone.”

John’s shoulders slumped, his hand rubbing over the stubble on his jaw before he shook his head. “Dirk, there’s a lot in play here, and you’re a lot of thing but you’re not a politician, you’re not used to the game like Jane is, or Jake is, even! Sometimes you have to accept other people know what to do and you don’t and even if it feels like they’re screwing you over they’re just trying to help!”

“Karkat phrased that sentiment much better.”

“I’m sure he did.” With a grimace, John gestured out at the mist, gathering a swirling spiral of it in front of them. “You probably think you know best, sure, whatever! But you’re not in Derse and you’re not just carrying on like always, things are different here. If you don’t get used to it you’ll just end up with a headache and more arguments than anyone can stand.”

“ _Different_ is fine, a fucking _mess_ isn’t.”

“ _Striders,_ ” John muttered, coaxing the haze to twist until it started to glow. “You know Dave kicked down the door to the Court once just to yell about how stupid our laws were? _Asshole._ Those doors cost me a lot to fix!”

“...And the laws?” Dirk glanced at him after a moment of silence.

John groaned, folding his arms. “All got changed after his stupid filibuster, and if you make _one_ comment…”

“I didn’t say anything.”

“You’re _thinking it pretty loud._ ”

Dirk coughed to hide his smile, and hated that he was once again grinning despite the conversation having been tense, despite how serious everything should have felt. He’d _died,_ he was facing the reality that Prospit was still a den of vipers behind the smiles, he was about to face the literal ghost of his recent past; but he was smiling. He didn’t feel the weight like he once had, the pressure now in his hands to drag behind him but not clawing him down with it. He could walk, despite it. He could find moments of mirth even in what should have been a well of despair.

_Prospit’s changing you._

For the first time, he was painfully aware of the words, slipping into his thoughts without him thinking them. He closed his eyes to chase them back, and when he couldn’t find the voice he _knew_ had spoken them, he thought a soft _quiet_ out into the void.

That was a whole other issue of its own. He wasn’t sure how to even _begin_ to broach it.

“So who am I summoning?”

John’s voice drew him back to the present, and Dirk blinked away the discomfort, considering for a moment before sighing as the unfortunate answer presented itself.

“Jack. He was an… _associate_ I knew in Derse.”

“Are you sure he’ll be able to tell you what you need to know?”

“I think so. If _he_ can’t, the others _definitely_ don’t know anything.” Dirk ran his hands together and ignored the brief memory of Jake’s palm, hot and soft and comforting against his. “We’ll just have to hope he isn’t too bitter about being beaten to death.”

“Hah!” John snorted, starting to wind the mist into shapes that changed too quickly for Dirk to pick them out. “I heard about that! Punched with a _punchbowl,_ man, that’s _hilarious!”_

“A man died, John.”

John huffed at him, rolling his eyes and muttering under his breath, “it’s still _funny_.”

Not for the first time, Dirk was reminded John was, as Jane tactfully chose to put it, _a few spokes short of the Sun_ , and turned his gaze away before he fell too far back down the rabbit hole over why John had been left that way and his own muddled feelings on the matter. There were things to do, _important_ things. He couldn’t lose sight of that. Another internal discussion about trauma and relatable rage could wait for another day, as could the soft murmur of a mirror that might’ve easily shown himself in the glass, if things had been different.

It _didn’t_ show him, and that was what mattered now. He hadn’t been broken.

The silver and white turned blue, first, a blue that held the same unnatural hue as the eyes of the man who was painting the air with arcane power. It flowed together, and apart, shape becoming gradually defined like a vase on a wheel, and as John dug his fingers into the clay and the details finally took shape the blue faded to a dull copy of colours Dirk was more familiar with, black and purple and the pale white of the moon. They flourished out on a wave of sparks like fireflies carrying banners behind them; then they were settled, and John’s hands came apart as a glow billowed up visibly within the hanging image in the air before them, Jack’s head lifting as his eyes filled with unholy white light and sparks rushed from his parted lips.

He stared down at them, forehead creasing, skin shining like it had been dusted with pearls as he raised his hands and peered through them. Slowly, he put a hand to the back of his head, and just for an instant his hair was matted with blood that streaked over his face, his clothes turning gold, before it flickered away as quick as it had come.

“Well, shit,” he snapped, dropping his hands to fold them over his chest. “That was a fucking _pathetic_ way to go.”

“If it makes you feel better,” John started cheerily, as Dirk continued to stare in horror at the spectre, more real than he’d expected him to seem, “it was the King himself who killed you!”

“Nice. Better than some resurrected brat with a messiah complex snapping my neck. Every offence meant, kid.” He turned his face towards Dirk, smiling with all his uneven teeth showing. “Fuck you.”

Denial lanced through Dirk with the words, blooming into a numb tranquility that drowned his fear below it. Anger and terror were pathways to mistakes he refused to make, and though his hands trembled he found resolve somewhere in himself, holding fast to it and even managing to gather enough out of place irritation to snap back, “you were going to kill me!”

“Oh _please,_ don’t give me _that_ pansy-ass excuse. You’d already died, getting back up and starting a beat-down was just straight _cheating._ I didn’t even get to stab anyone before that part-bear freak did me in with, what was it, some glass or shit?”

“ _Punchbowl,”_ John whispered, giggling.

“Okay, I’m not sure I wanna… go down that whole messed up road you got right there,” Jack gestured at the Prospitan, sticking his tongue out in disgust before he looked back to Dirk with those horrid, empty eyes, burning with a finality that reminded Dirk of the cold nothingness and a bloody moon in his trembling hands. “But I spent a year in this piss-covered _hellhole_ and I didn’t even get to shank you for old time’s sake so fuck you and the royal dick you rode in on. She should’ve killed you when you were soft and pudgy and could barely walk, let alone fight back, but like she’s ever done one sensible fucking thing in her _life_ that didn’t screw me over. Sending me to die in whatever circus get-up I was forced into is really the final middle-finger-shaped candle to top the cake of _fucking bitch._ ”

“Do you know why she sent you?” He fought to keep his voice calm, even, refusing to acknowledge he was talking to a ghost, refusing to acknowledge the absurdity that turned bitter at the edges. “Do you know what she’s planning?”

“Why the fuck would I tell you?”

“Because she wouldn’t want you to.”

Jack paused and considered it, tapping a hand to his mouth.

“You present a surprisingly good argument,” he said eventually, inclining his head. “Hey, listen, I’ll make you a deal here, brat. You still got my body? Great. _Don’t bury me in that piss-coloured piece of shit._ ”

“I can arrange something dignified.”

“And stick my knife in the coffin. I wanna find out if you _can_ take it with you, and if it turns out that whole saying was bullshit I’m gonna find the asshole who came up with it and find out if you can kill a ghost twice as dead.”

“Deal.”

“Alright.” Jack briefly came apart, growing blurred and indistinct, before he sharpened together and laced his fingers. “She told us we had to kill you and I’m pretty fucking sure she knew you were going to jump right back up because she said we had to tell you shit too, so I don’t know what the point of wasting a perfectly good sliced jugular on you was. Then we had to go for His Most Furry Fucking Radiance and if we could get Little Miss Fuck The Throne we got a nice bonus. Other than that… well she’s been extra pally with that Rose bitch since she started letting her think for herself a lot less, you get me? And I ain’t heard shit about your girlfriend since the message about you getting sent out on whatever your fucking mission was meant to be, but given our instructions came way before yours, I’m guessing you being turncoat was all part of the plan, unless you ain’t gone turncoat at all in which case consider me fucking fooled by the whole murdering your countrymen thing.”

“The Dignitary said she’d kill Roxy if I didn’t let one of you- _him_ \- go.”

“Well whoop-de-fucking-doo looks like Droog was getting a little private showing from Her Imperial Dickcrusher that he didn’t think it was worth letting his old friend Jack in on, so thanks for that, guess I’m adding him to the list of _people who should go get screwed by a horse-_ Nah wait, you’d probably like that, I’ve seen the way you look at horses. _Screwed by a dog?_ Better, better, I can work with that, think I can find some demonic hounds to wait around with until you jackasses turn up and I take my due?”

Something swelled in Dirk’s chest, souring his thoughts with a grief he hadn’t let himself embrace. It was a ridiculous moment for it to surface; yet he felt it break in a wave across his thoughts as he finally let faces and names drape over the dead, looking down and thinking that in the light his palms seemed stained with red.

“If you were only allowed near stables once a year you’d be excited about it too,” he murmured, rubbing the gloves against each other to brush off a mark that wasn’t there. “I can get into the sadism, if you like. I’ve overheard Rose bring it up with you enough times to repeat the discussion by heart.”

“Hey, hey, what a man does on his private time ain’t no fucking business of mine or yours, I just won’t be the one who hooks you up with the mare of your dreams, or the stallion or whatever you’re even into.” Jack swept his hands apart and they broke into mist that reformed with them raised a moment before they dropped like smoke down to his sides. “...Droog said the Almighty Sunbeam took you riding, and not even the sort of _riding_ the rest of the Palace likes to bark about when you ain’t around. The Imperial Bitch would be tearing him three new holes if she found out about you getting to do shit with a horse that wasn’t taking hoofs to the ribs.”

“Do you think I should ride up to Derse just to make a point?” Dirk’s smile was small and felt in bad humour, but it lingered. “We’ll fight dramatically and at last I’ll get a sword to her throat... and then, heroic and triumphant, I’ll say _maybe if you’d given me a pony none of this would’ve happened_.”

“A sword to her throat? Prospit fucked you up that bad?”

“Oh, I’m sorry. _A knife in her back,_ ” Dirk corrected in a rough copy of Jack’s tones. “Moon forbid I do anything as scandalous as try and make the fight fair.”

“ _That’s_ my asshole brat. I’m so proud, I’d be crying if I wasn’t a fucking cloud or some shit.” To prove the point, Jack pressed his hand straight through his own chest and wiggled his fingers, making the mist that formed him swirl and eddy in the cavity. “So is this me now? Or do I just evaporate back to wherever the shit I was before?”

John turned his gaze away from where it had caught on Dirk, something Dirk hadn’t noticed until it broke and sent a cold frisson down his spine. The Prospitan shrugged, lifting his hands again with a glow that gave his gloves an iridescent blue sheen. “Well, you go back until I ring for you again, probably! Unless I don’t need you again, in which case you’re just dead for good!”

“So we done here or what?”

John glanced at Dirk, waiting. The thought of being responsible for saying they were done was unpleasant, Dirk found; worse than the thought of killing someone in a fight. In a fight there were split chances of success, opportunities that ran both ways, an _understanding._ This felt more like having a dog caught in a trap and a muzzle, and taking the knife to it when it couldn’t even bark back.

“We’ll speak again,” he compromised, giving a short nod. “Don’t go far.”

“Kid, only place I’m going is six feet straight down.” Jack’s smile was mirthless, unwinding as John’s hands started to tug at the threads that held him together and split him along all his seams. “I’m sure you’ll know where to find me.”

The image distorted out of sight, just another cloud among the endless rolling breath of the cave, and Dirk finally felt his shoulders slip downwards, the bottled fear burst out in a shuddering gasp. The spirit had been more than he expected, not a whispering shade but a face and a voice and a _life_ somehow _unliving,_ just as he should have been but for eyes that burned with emptiness. What would the windows to the soul show when there was no body around it? Nothing. _Nothing._ A void that lingered somewhere deep in him, festering and cold, enough to turn his stomach and make the scar on his throat sear with fresh pain.

“That went well,” John hummed, patting Dirk lightly on the back as Dirk dry retched at the floor, hands planted on his thighs to steady himself. “Usually it takes _way_ longer to get people like that to say anything! I don't usually have one of their friends around to help.”

“We weren't friends.” Dirk wiped his mouth on his glove, voice thick. “He trained me and kept me company but it was only because- because _she_ didn't want him to. He didn't care about me, I didn't care about him. It was just-” He spluttered, closing his eyes and ignoring the sting. It didn't hurt him. It _didn't._ “Just _business.”_

But _business_ had still been kinder than the rest. Even a rope thrown to make a point was a way out of a chasm, and the trapped were hardly picky. He’d played cards with Deuce long before he snapped his short neck, laughing when a slip had twenty aces spilling from beneath his stocky arms. He’d learned to play a violin with Boxcars, thick fingers surprisingly graceful as they danced between the strings. Jack had taught him how to conceal a weapon and strike without warning, grinning lopsidedly when Dirk marvelled at his speed and he crowed _that's why they call me Slick._

And the Dignitary- Droog- He’d let Roxy care for his cat when he was away and earned her trust in return. He'd taught Dirk how to hold a sword and how to keep his feelings close, taught him how to guard himself and how to dance so the Nobles wouldn't have a reason to be displeased with his services.

The irony of it all wasn't lost on him.

“I didn't have much in Derse. Now I have even less.” Dirk’s words were clipped, a practised calm that had once been directed by the hands that had slit his throat. “At least some of my connections can still be of use despite that.”

“He didn’t tell us much we didn’t already know, but at least he confirmed it. You _were_ meant to survive, so the Empress already knew about Jane’s powers.” John collected his glass and sipped some of the wine that had refilled at some point during their conversation. “Maybe you were sent earlier so they’d trust you enough you’d work as bait? But that’s still a risk! And it doesn’t explain why you were poisoned, either, or what happened to the Ward…”

“I did get one answer.” It came back, a word repeated firmly so he’d remember, ringing clear as Dirk looked at John and understood it wasn’t a message meant for _him._ “He said Lalonde. That… _is_ them, but I don’t know why he would tell me that _now._ ”

“Maybe she wants to make me angry.” John smiled, but it went dead at his cheeks, eyes no longer bright. “It’s a very good way to upset me! It’s not like I didn’t already _know,_ but I’d hoped! And oh, making sure we _know_ it’s them, twisting that knife, right before I hear something like Rose isn’t being allowed to think for herself? That’s _good._ That’s _almost_ enough.”

“Almost,” Dirk repeated. John turned away, snapping Dirk’s empty glass and his own off towards the desk with a vicious burst of air.

“Things are different now, and she doesn’t know everything. She can’t hurt me like she thinks, not anymore.”

“She used Dave to break you, right?” Dirk wet his lips, pushing as he stepped after John and felt an anxious thrill shiver through his chest. “And now you’re chasing after his ghost to keep yourself sane?”

“Way to sound like Karkat! You missed out the bit about _ridiculous obsession,_ but…” John shook his head, leaning against the table as the glasses clinked against it. “Maybe. Focusing on him helps, it always did, and like I told you- he’s the one person left I could do something _for._ He’s someone I could _help,_ instead of just… hurting more people! Which is something it turns out I’m _great_ at.”

“You’ve been looking for him a long time, his spirit or whatever, you said so.”

“If you’re going to tell me to give up, I’m going to stop you right there. I’m not giving up on any of my friends, especially not Dave! I… I owe them that, okay? I owe him this.”

Dirk faltered, staring out at the mist. The thought of Jack’s haunting eyes, terrible holes into eternity, torn into a different face- He didn’t know if he wanted to see that. He didn’t know if he could face it, face _that_ being the memory that was crystal clear when all the others were still so blurred.

_I owe him this,_ John had said. What did _Dirk_ owe him?

More than silence. More than _I’m sorry,_ cried into an endless cold.

“I saw him.”

John jolted, the table scraping against the stone with the force of him pressing back from it. His eyes were bright with unholy blue when they fixed on Dirk, his body so tense Dirk didn’t think he was breathing, more like a spring coiled so tight it was about to snap.

“What?” John’s voice was soft, a blade ready to cut deep, warning and urgent without being anything more than a breath. Dirk nearly balked beneath it, but he held firm, lifting his head and meeting John’s gaze despite the shudder he felt building beneath his skin.

“When I was dead-” It was so strange to say it, to admit it, but it was _truth_ and he knew what he’d felt, what he’d seen- “I saw Dave. He spoke to me, he… he warned me about what was about to happen, somehow.”

John’s shoulders dropped and he hurried over, seizing Dirk’s arms tightly and searching his eyes like he might be lying. Something broke over his face as Dirk met the accusations with as open an expression as he could muster; John choked, covering his mouth to hold back a strained sound, before he shook Dirk with the hand still clutching him like a vice.

“Why would he come for you but not me? I’ve called- so many times, so _many_ times-”

“I think he… might’ve been busy.” Dirk didn’t know how else to explain his suspicions, ignoring the horrid sensation of laughter that echoed through his lips without them moving. “I know you’ve looked, but if you tried again- you know he’s been near me, could you use that, like a dog with a scent or something, I don’t know.” He didn’t _know,_ but it was _something._ “I’ll do whatever you- you need me to do.”

If there was a chance to finally see the face that had still been beyond his grasp, if there was a chance to say something, _anything,_ and get an answer, to finally know more than the stories other people had to share and the lies he’d spent a lifetime having beaten into his mind- He had to take it. He _had_ to.

He’d lost his brother before he’d even known him. If he had a chance to claw part of Dave back, something that was _his_ and no one else’s, Dirk knew now he’d do whatever it took.

“Maybe- _Maybe,_ tethers aren’t usually people but when was anything _usual_ with _any_ of us and if I could find him and pull him back I could figure out a way to-” John let go, rushing to the desk and sweeping half his papers onto the floor in a clearly frantic search. “I know Karkat said it doesn’t work like that but he doesn’t know everything! He _doesn’t_ and if this time he’s _wrong_ one chance is all I need to prove it, to prove it could be different if we _tried!_ ”

“So you can use me?” Dirk’s breath was strained, excitement drumming in his ears. “You could summon him?”

“If he appeared to you he’ll have left a trace, like perfume in a room after someone walks out, and I thought I’d tried all those paths but he was always different anyway, he was _always_ hard to trace like that so if the trail on you is still _fresh_ then maybe I can find out what I did wrong and I can find him and-” John snapped upright, a thick scroll in one hand and a bundle of fabric in the other. “He told me it wasn’t worth looking but he isn’t always right, Dirk! I’m not as mad as people think, I’m _not,_ I _know what I’m doing_ and just because I have bad days still it doesn’t mean I’m crazy, even if you think I am! I can do this! I can save him, and he’ll bring them back, and then it’ll be okay again. Everything will be- will be _okay_.”

The desperation beneath the words was clear, briefly showing in John’s face as he closed the gap and thrust the scroll at Dirk, who took it with a fumble. “Resonant objects! Important things that are attuned to a particular person because of an emotional bond or long-term use! It’ll help make any trace on you as strong as it can possibly be, which’ll make it easier for me to fix onto.”

Dirk flinched as the slips of fabric were slapped against his shoulder. “Can I ask what the fuck these are?”

“The calendar he marked his visits on for me and the gloves he wore whenever he was in Prospit.” John answered curtly, tapping them each in turn and continuing to speak before Dirk could ask anything else. “I need you to focus on what you saw. Don’t think about _anything_ else, just remember as much as you can about the visitation and try and make it as clear as possible in your mind, okay? This is going to feel weird, but you have to _focus._ ”

“I can try.”

It wasn’t like he hadn’t already played it back to himself when things grew quiet, trying to urge out every detail, anything he might’ve missed, and trying to piece back together a face that had eluded him _again._ Dirk closed his eyes and breathed slowly, ignoring the unpleasant memory of endless void and surrounding himself with that one instant of something more.

He recalled hands on him that John’s palms fell into the echoes of, squeezing tight and urging him to action. John’s were warmer, stronger, but after a moment the touch turned chill and spread through him, branching along his veins and escaping in a cold breath he knew must have misted the air before him. For some reason he’d thought the artefacts John had forced at him would turn warm or sing with power- but they were still, silent, and the only ether that came to burn his throat was carried on John’s breeze as it picked up around them.

The blood-soaked moon was clear in his mind’s eye, just as bright and terrible as it had been in his hands; the memory might even burn brighter now, made vivid by his fixation, meaning infused into the glimpse of a past that was suddenly more than a story. The loss had always been words and blunt understanding, but now it felt like a future that was taken from him, a man who might have _lived._

_I’m looking,_ Dirk pleaded to the thought of a face that was still like ink washed out by rain. _I’m looking, please! You told me you were here!_

Nothing answered, but he felt a shift, an indescribable stirring behind his thoughts that was too guarded for him to seize- But John’s chill presence grew suddenly urgent, painfully spiking up his spine with a sting that had Dirk’s eyes flying wide open in alarm.

John’s eyes were so bright that any blue in them was lost beneath the pure sensation of _light,_ the intensity mesmerising even as it made Dirk’s own eyes water. Below the blaze John’s lips were parted, and as he breathed thick fog rolled from them and glittered with ice, catching in the wind that whipped up around him and turning to silver stains in the air. They muddled with other fragments of mist, seeming to press in from all sides, leaving frost flowering on his cheeks and coating his lashes in diamonds. Dirk shuddered, trying to fight the numbness already seizing painfully through his fingers, trying to _focus,_ to keep the image in his mind as John drew the wind together and left it rushing so fast Dirk could barely even draw a breath-

He nearly fell when the hands on his arms vanished, staggering as John swept them out towards the abyss and drew the raging gale over the cliff to crash against the wave of fog that surged forth from below. As the mists met John’s frosted gloves turned white with the light burning from within them, and he led the tidal waves of silver like the conductor of a storm, catching the eddies and whirlpools and forcing them to war over and over until each one was consumed in turn. This was no delicate threading together of a form; this was the tumultuous rise of some forgotten power from far beneath the cloudy sea, and as the waves finally parted around a more focused point of pallid space John dragged his hands upwards, fingers curled and teeth bared, forcing the rest of the mist aside and leaving one pillar of blinding light that sparked and hissed like metal beneath a smith’s hammer.

“ _Why are you fighting me?”_ John’s voice boomed in the cavern, carried on every twist of the wind that kept the clouds at bay. As the mist parted Dirk could finally see just how vast the abyss below was, see other islands far in the distance that held other furniture and must be the places John lingered when he wasn’t by the stairs. The winds flowed through channels in the stone and the whole cave sang with it, an inhuman chorus like a pipe organ given ancient lungs; somewhere distant, something answered, and it was impossible to tell if it was an echo or the vast song of a beast buried in the dark.

The pillar hissed and spat, then burst apart, white flames rushing up over the roof and the distant floor as it shattered and left a figure who was bright with the same distorting light, broken only where red blood washed down his face and front and curled into the shape of a crescent on his chest.

It hurt to look but Dirk still _tried,_ pushing himself to stare even as his eyes ached and tears ran down his cheeks, his face burning beneath the heat that beat down against them in the place of John’s cold.

“ _Why are you fighting?”_ John tried again, raising his hands to protect himself as he took a step forward, and another, leaning into the rush of air to push against it. “ _I can help you! Please, don’t do this!”_

The light split with eyes that glowed like the blood down his front, staring down at them both and felt empty despite the colour that flooded where white should have been, feeling just as terrible as Jack’s gaze but burning with something worse in the red that overflowed in their depths.

“Not yet,” the vision said, and his voice was nothing but pressure and pain, urgently slicing through the roar of the wind. “ _Not yet!_ ”

The last thing Dirk was aware of was John’s wind turning blue and rushing inwards as the ghost’s white form cracked through with red; then everything was white, and the world was tumbling. His head cracked into something, and all the light went black.

“I hope this isn’t going to become a habit,” Jane sighed at him as she helped him up the stairs what felt like a mere moment later. She’d already informed him that he’d been unconscious much longer than he felt, and though she’d done her best to encourage John to come upstairs to be looked at as well, the most she’d received in return was a murmured nothing before he strode away into the returned mist and left her to huff and start heaving Dirk up the steps alone.

Dirk was attempting to help, and it was getting easier as he woke up from the muddled daze he’d first found himself lost in. The dim memory of light, a flicker of Karkat’s face and worried voice, were all he could pluck from the swirl of sleep and shock until it solidified into Jane repeating his name. She’d been an anchor since then, keeping him grounded as he worked through regaining his senses, and he wouldn’t pretend he wasn’t thankful for the moments her gloved palms turned warm where they held him and a little more of the ache in his temples faded away.

“I wasn’t intending to get my ass blasted by a summoning gone wrong, but who knows. Maybe I liked it. Might become a weekly bonding thing with me and your Pops, we could meet up and get our asses handed to us by the glowing spirit of bad timing and laugh about our joint concussion.” Dirk winced as his head throbbed to prove the point, Jane’s fingers twitching while a soft wash of heat eased the pain. “Shit- This was a way better idea before I knew ghosts could go off like black powder. Is that normal? Karkat said spirits combust when they’re upset or he does at least so I guess a ghost turning into an oversized firework isn’t that weird, right?”

“You’re rambling, Dirk.”

“Well shit, guess the part of my brain that got scrambled was the part that filtered what hit my tongue, time to batten down the hatches ‘cause there’s a storm coming and if I get any more delirious it’s gonna start rhyming.” Dirk laughed roughly, breaking into a coughing fit that made them both pause in place until it subsided. “Sorry- Fuck, this is what I get. I start thinking maybe I can finally get something impossible and guess what, Dirk, it’s _impossible,_ fuck you and here’s some internal bleeding for your trouble.”

“You’re being awfully melodramatic,” Jane murmured, though he could hear her concern. “Karkat says you were trying to… Well. Do something that _isn’t_ as stupid as you’re acting, and it backfiring was not actually your fault.”

“I guess _you_ know all about plans backfiring.”

Jane hesitated.

“What was the plan, Jane?” Dirk looked up at her, blinking the slight sparkles at the edges of his vision away as he wet his lips and ignored the pressure of the mask catching on his tongue. “Come on. Give a dead man his last request and tell me what was _meant_ to happen, don’t I at least deserve _that_?”

“You aren’t a dead man, Dirk,” she answered quietly, looking away from him.

“I _was.”_

“-and I’m _sorry._ ” Her voice cracked, her steps catching on the stairs. Jane stopped to collect herself, shooting him one glance that wasn’t closed off, pain showing in the twisted expression she wore. “I didn’t expect you to get hurt! I didn’t _want_ you to get hurt. I know you probably think badly of me after all you’ve seen but I wouldn’t do anything I thought would- I _wouldn’t,_ Dirk. It went wrong. It… It went wrong, and I wasn’t ready to deal with that.”

She helped him further upwards, taking a deep breath and adjusting her grip as the warmth in her touch wavered.

“I knew there were spies in Prospit,” she explained finally, speaking quietly with a calm that tremored at the edges. “I spent a month changing public opinion of you by… by spreading a lie that you worked for us. As far as the public believe, you’ve been in Prospitan hands your whole life, and your loyalty is to our King, and our city. I had to fake records, leak them in a way that seemed accidental, let the papers run away with it- but they did, and there was enough of a good memory of Dave that they put the positive spin on it that I’d gambled on.”

“They think you’re going to use me to take over Derse.” Of course. He was always seen on someone’s chain, even when there was no longer a collar around his throat. Dirk laughed, too numb to be hurt. “I had this delusion they might just be giving me a chance on my own merits.”

“What people think now is just an opportunity. It gives you a moment to step in and show yourself as you are, and you- you _did,_ even if it wasn’t what was meant to happen.” Jane frowned. “I knew there were spies and if they thought you were loyal to Prospit they might come out of the woodwork to kill you when you were apparently unprotected, but the Spirits were _prepared,_ they were going to stop the attack and then we’d have prisoners and less people left undiscovered in our ranks! I didn’t think she’d have planned for that. I didn’t think she’d be willing to use you as _collateral_.”

“It surprised you?” Dirk scowled down at the stone. “After she sent me here and poisoned me?”

“Yes! Because I- I realised _why.”_ Jane looked over at him, biting her cheek as she glanced between his eyes. “What did she have to gain by leaving you alive, without your memories? At first I thought it was about sending a message, but none of us would have known you, or thought to take you to John. Then I thought it was about removing the risk of an Heir- but death would have done that! Why send you all this way and leave you without knowledge of who you were?”

“Enlighten me.”

She sighed, shrugging the shoulder beneath his arm.

“Because then you weren’t in Derse, where people knew who you were and murder is as common as crows; to us- to _Jake-_ you would have been a man who was a victim, and to those in the Palace, to her _spies,_ it’s not a secret how forgiving he is to those he thinks have been wronged. Your life would have been quiet, probably out of the way, but he wouldn’t have killed you if you hesitated to kill him. You would’ve started again somewhere in the Palace, and been forgotten as anything but the man you became.”

“I don’t understand.” Dirk didn’t want to, feeling something horrid crawling down his spine. “She just wanted to get rid of me, it was some- symbol or something, it had to be, I-”

“You weren’t meant to die because she didn’t want to kill you. A buccaneer will bury their treasure sooner than let someone else have at it- She’d rather you nameless and forgotten than her favourite pet be lost.” Jane raised her head, speaking with more certainty as he recoiled. “There’s a war coming, Dirk. This peace was always temporary, and she knows that just as well as I do. She sent you somewhere you would be safe until she came to claim Prospit and took you back. We weren’t meant to use you as anything against her, and you weren’t meant to be used against us. Everything I’ve found suggests you were a cuckoo egg left in our nest, and if there was any _statement_ here, it was in the fact her worst enemies would protect the very thing that might have been her undoing.”

“I’m not a _thing._ ” It was the first thing that slipped out, his ears ringing as he sharply pulled away from Jane and pressed to the opposite wall. “I’m not a _pet!_ ”

Not anymore, not now, he’d started believing he might mean something and he couldn’t lose that, _wouldn’t_ lose that. She wouldn’t take him back and no one would talk about him like an _object,_ no one would put him back on his chain.

“Dirk-” Jane started, her sure expression suddenly panic. “I didn’t mean it like that-”

_Calm down._

“ _Shut up!_ ” He grabbed his head, shaking it angrily between his palms. “ _Don’t tell me what to do!_ ”

Jane drew back, clearly distressed, but he didn’t care, not after everything. She’d used him, they’d all used him, he was still a slave in gold instead of silver, and he’d thought it wasn’t like that, he’d thought he was _free-_

_Calm down!_

“ _I don’t need you!”_ He stumbled, grasping at the stairs and then starting to run, climbing in an uneven scramble. “ _Get out of my head!”_

He slammed into the hall and blindly skidded in the sunlight, catching the wall and dragging his shoulder along it until he could see enough to pull away. Jane might’ve shouted his name, he couldn’t hear clearly through his own pulse, running from her just as much as from the red shadow he could feel trying to drag him back and hold him still. He threw his arms out like he might push it back and caught another wall, falling to his knees heavily before he forced through the shock and stumbled back to his feet, stepping back when he saw guards ahead looking down the hall at him and then starting down a different hall, steps rapidly returning to a sprint and everything distant as he did whatever he could to just get _away_ from there, from them, from _everything-_

“ _Hey!_ ”

Dirk jolted but it wasn’t fast enough to evade the cold water that ran up his wrist, backwards rain that gathered together into a dense pool to catch his hand. It jerked him backwards, his breaths frantic as he tried to pull himself free. He didn’t even see the body in front of him until hands grasped his cheeks, fabric soft but grip firm as Meenah urged him to look at her and stared down at him with her dark lips pursed in worry.

“Hey, hey, come on. Not gonna hurt you, dipshit, calm the fuck down and if you’re runnin’ anywhere in particular I’ll even take you there myself.” She didn’t let go, staring him down until her bright eyes punctured the blur the world had turned to and his breaths shuddered to a slower pace, tears starting to sting in his nose. “Don’t you dare, I’m the only one who gets to turn on the waterworks around here.” She released his hand at least, her grip on his face loosening as she glanced along the hall like someone might’ve been following. “Wanna blow this joint?”

“Please,” his voice was hoarse in the worst way, and Meenah nodded in what thankfully seemed to be understanding.

She didn't travel like Karkat; when she pulled him along with her the world didn't melt into a mess. Instead it was like they fell, the floor beneath them turning to a rippling pool that gave way and swallowed them whole, cold around them as it rushed up and stole Dirk’s shocked breath. At first he thought they’d fallen into ink and oil, the only light in sight what looked like a shining window below them that Meenah span them gracefully to face, trailing faint pink lights behind her. Slowly, Dirk’s eyes adjusted, and the darkness around them began to take on soft hues and break with glittering stars, alien constellations painted across an unending sky.

He stared and his lips parted, but the ocean around them didn’t flood him as he’d expected. He could breathe easy, even it was like drinking in nothing but ether, the sting dulled by the chill and the wonder that clouded his senses easier than any poison had.

All too quickly the window was upon them, and Dirk’s head span as Meenah dragged him through it, the world flipping suddenly as they rose just as upright as they’d started. For a moment after the surface broke, he was aware of his feet being off the floor; then Meenah set him back down onto solid stone, brushing a few spots of sparkling black from his shoulder as she cast a wary look up and down him.

“...You cool?”

“I don’t want to cover my shoes in today’s breakfast, which is a _huge_ improvement on most of my previous trips through whatever realm Karkat likes to shove me into.” Dirk shuddered and flexed his fingers to ease away the lingering sensation of ice clinging to his skin, though the dizziness passed quick enough he was supporting himself by the time Meenah nodded and stepped away. “Where’d we take the underwater express?”

“Roof.” She turned and started up the staggered incline as Dirk turned to stare over the edge and out across the city beyond. “Yeah, yeah, soak it in. Not many people bother coming up here to see it.”

When he’d come to Prospit he hadn’t spent time focusing on anything but the Palace, and even having crossed the entire sea of gold that spread before him, the sight seemed new and strange, sloped roofs of bronzed metal and walls of pale stone all gathering up into a man-made mountain with the Palace at its peak. It was like a frozen ocean, peaks of crashing waves caught in eternity as pin-prick spots of life danced around them in a constant flow.

In the sunlight it was dazzling, moving bands of glittering brightness tracing the outlines of the clouds far above. The rushing tide of shade and light made it feel as if it was all still alive despite its confinement; that at any moment the ice might give way and the molten waters would rush back together to claim what had always been theirs to flood.

Prospit was nothing like the neat order of Derse. It was chaos, held in perfect balance, one moment from snapping and losing all grace.

“It’s different, huh?” Meenah asked from above, and Dirk turned to look up at her where she stood perched on a higher tier, gazing out with a softer expression than he’d known her to hold. “Ain’t Derse, I mean, that’s for sure.”

“You’ve seen Derse?”

“We all have.” She shrugged, folding her arms over her chest. “Weren’t always like this. Ocean didn’t used to mean shit, cities didn’t always wanna gut each other… Spirits weren’t always stuck in Prospit.”

“Karkat told me.” He nodded and finally started up to meet her, stealing odd glances over his shoulder as he went. “About the dreaming, and you all being driven out.”

“Probably made it nice and simple. He hates getting into the mess of it, I know him and Makara were tight, _somehow._ ” Before Dirk could push, Meenah had turned and strode forward, beckoning him behind her. “We ain’t here to talk aboat that shit, we’re here to talk aboat _your_ shit, so don’t you get me gushing old news instead. C’mon, settle down. Ain’t nobody comin’ up here but us, we got time.”

“Doesn’t that mean we have enough time for old news?”

“Don’t make me regret bringing you with me.” Meenah settled down against one of the ornamental walls, gathering stones from between the tiles and starting to skip them across the crevices like pebbles on a pond. “I’ll drop you straight back where I found you, don’t think I won’t.”

Dirk found a space beside her and slumped back, closing his eyes and listening to the low hubbub of the city and the gentle patter of her thrown distractions. The cavern already seemed miles away, the sting of Jane’s words washing from his thoughts with each breath of clear air that didn’t sting with magical ether. No voice plagued him he did not know was his _own_.

“John summoned Jack- one of the men who attacked me.” He opened his eyes and stared up to the sky, watching the white and blue shift on currents too high to be felt. “I’d never seen a ghost before. It was… _unpleasant_ , and worse because I… I knew him, before all this.”

“Sorry for the loss of your homicidal friend.”

“We weren’t _friends_. He just… didn’t treat me like shit, and in Derse that was pretty much as good as it got. Jack had a thing against the Empress- fuck, who _didn’t_ have something against her- and his way of rebelling was being good to me because he knew she hated it. He used to let me go hide with them in their rooms, taught me to gamble and fight, how to lie and how to backtalk someone without them noticing. Like… Like the Dersite alphabet, honestly. You know how to stab a back before you know how to count your kills, that’s what they joke down in the city.”

“Sounds like a rough place to be,” Meenah whistled, skipping a stone too firmly and wincing as it sailed off the edge.

“At least you know what you're getting. Everyone has an agenda but no one is trying to hide it, they're all pretty blatantly trying to screw each other in whatever way’s currently fashionable. There's no false smiles in Derse- It's nasty and unfair but it's _real_ and _there_ and _human-_ No offence.”

“Prospit’s all a theatre,” Meenah replied, gesturing grandly over the city. “A big fancy stage with everyone wearin’ masks, performing in front of a crowd who’re cold and hungry and forgotten.”

“It's been hard to remember there's people outside the Palace. Everyone here acts like it's the whole world.”

“Shit like _that_ is why Harley left, so it ain't nothing new. Twenty years ago no one here gave a shit about the poor assholes out there, and it's the same as it ever was. I used to be like that. Barely cared what was outside the _treasury,_ damn, it was wild living on a mountain of gold and not giving two shits.”

Dirk glanced at her. “What changed?”

“Woke up one morning and thought… Is this it? Is this all I'm ever gonna do with my life? All I'm ever gonna be?” She dragged her gloves back through the neat rows of her hair, pushing her mask down and breathing in the breeze as she carefully unpinned her second long braid and watched it unravel to the ground. “I wanted to be rich ‘cause I thought that was _success_ , but who gives a fuck about a solid gold tomb if there ain't no one who knows what the name on it _means?_ Nah. I'm gonna wreck shit, and people are gonna _remember_ me, people are gonna say my name and know who the fuck I am. If that starts with turning ‘round to the King of the Sun and tellin’ him to go fuck himself, I'm game, I just gotta make sure when I do it I do it with enough force behind me he has to shut up and _listen._ ”

“How terribly noble.”

“Noble don't have shit to do with it. Listen- once that gold _meant_ something, it was offerings and taxes and proof I was on top. Used to have a _big_ cult, and days were good, and I was swimming in all the treasure I could want, yeah? But then… That dried up. I could still get whatever I wanted but I already had more than I knew what to do with and no one gave a fuck about any of it, or me.” Meenah sighed dramatically, dropping back against the bricks. “I used to think the gold was where it was _at_ but what good’s more hard cash than Prospit could dream of if I ain’t got anyone to wave it at?”

“So you're going to make sure people know your name so they come back to worship you?” Dirk raised an eyebrow at her. “So you can have the right number of awed followers around you at all times?”

“Shell yeah I am, and I tell you what, boy, it's gonna _work._ ”

“When you're being carried around by your loyal servants, I'm sure you'll look incredible.” Dirk rolled his eyes back towards the heavens, snorting. “More golden than the Golden Palace… Worth more than either of the states. You can swan from place to place, letting all marvel at your glittering majesty.”

“You sassing me, boy? Feels like you're sassing me.”

“Me? Goodness, never.”

Meenah reached over and swatted the back of his hood, then fell back, sighing and looking up to the clouds herself. “Lucky I like you.”

“...I am,” he answered after a moment, the joke fading from his thoughts even as he started to speak it. “I’d be twice-dead if it wasn’t for you.”

“I was just doin’ someone else’s leg-work. Don’t read something into it that ain’t there.”

“And what do you think I was reading into it?”

“ _Something_.” She curled her lip, baring fangs to the air. “If I get a speech on the power of friendship or shit I’m slammin’ you straight into a pit with everyone’s favourite Crab for a pity partner.”

“I didn’t bring friendship into it.”

“You were _gonna._ ” Meenah glanced his way. “How ‘bout we don’t jump ship and stick with why we’re both sitting on a roof, huh?”

“I suppose we could.” Dirk’s smile slipped as his mood did, his eyes sliding closed. “John summoned Jack. It was- _awful,_ seeing that, seeing him like…” He gestured to his face, throat growing tight. “But… we managed to talk. I don’t think we learned _much,_ but there was _something_ , and facts instead of suppositions. I know she didn’t want me to die.”

He stopped, thoughts hitching as Jane’s words returned unbidden. _She’d rather you nameless and forgotten than her favourite pet be lost._ The nausea he’d held down returned to burn his tongue, and he pressed a hand to his mouth to halt it, turning his face away even with his eyes still screwed shut and only a faint red glow breaking the nothingness behind the lids.

“So she knows what Crocker can pull? Means she’s closer than they figured.” Meenah filled the silence carefully, not treading on the cracks in his courage when they were so bare and ready to shatter. “Whatever the game is, main thing is you’re still here. Palace would’ve been dull as shit without you,” she added dismissively, and he opened his eyes to give her a look.

“You would’ve missed me? I’m touched.”

“I didn’t say that.”

Dirk mimicked her voice. “You were _gonna._ ”

Meenah snorted, hiding a grin in her arm as she pressed it over her lips. “Keep talkin’ like that and you’re gonna get your ass kicked off this roof. Come on. Whatever point you’re trying _badly_ to skirt the fuck around, get your ass to _it_ instead.”

He dropped his hands to rest on his knees, leaving his face covered and for once thankful he could hide behind the mask. Before him the point lingered on the tip of a blade, and he felt it rough against his chest as he took a short breath that refused to fill his lungs and left a stiffness behind it.

“When I died I saw my brother,” he managed, and Meenah didn’t react as abruptly as John, but he felt her gaze snap to him and burn there, her body shifting so she could lift it away from the wall and watch him more closely. “I think I did, anyway. He wasn’t clear… Fuck, _wasn’t clear,_ hah. His face _wasn’t there_. He said something I thought I’d figured out so when I was with John, after Jack was gone…”

“You told him,” Meenah finished, whistling quietly. “And I bet he flipped every shit he has left.”

“That’s one way of putting it, sure. I’ve never seen him so…”

There was an uncomfortable silence, before Meenah finally prompted a quiet, “desperate?”

Dirk sighed. “Yeah. Karkat had told me he was like that but he just- _broke,_ everything gave way and it was like he barely remembered anything existed beyond what he wanted to do. He was talking _mostly_ fine, but his eyes got _wild_ , and he threw everything at my guess just for a chance it was right.”

“People don’t get how strong that boy is. Musta been a lot to take in all at once.”

“It _was._ It was terrifying, and…” What was the point of lying? He was sitting beside what he’d once called a Demon, spilling his discomfort like he would to any other friend. “...And it was incredible. I’ve never felt anything like that before, or seen it, not even with Jake and his fucking shadow puppet of the Gods or whatever that _was._ The world came _alive_ and it was all John, everywhere, _everything._ I’d started to think I understood what magic was like, but feeling that I felt like… like I thought I knew how to swim but I realised I’d only ever been in the shallows, and there were currents in the deep ocean I hadn’t even begun to imagine.”

Meenah’s gaze dropped down him before it rose again, her face cocking to one side as she regarded him with something akin to suspicion.

“...Most powerful thing in this world is a human soul let loose,” she murmured. “You get a fraction of our abilities but you multiply it by that much passion and it goes further than we could ever manage alone.” She paused, glancing away before she snorted quietly. “Wanna know a secret?”

“Curiosity will someday be the death of me, I’m sure. But… yes.”

“Reason Serket wants to bind you is she knows if you ain’t hers, you ain’t gonna have no reason to listen to her once your soul gets ahold of _anything_. We can taste it, see it, whatever, the sorta way a human is, how they’d take to the gifts they’re given- Best thing Derse ever did was teach you to keep your palms clear; not sure anyone there could hold up to you if you were packing even _half_ the firepower you’d have with a scar.”

“Are you making a hard sell?” Dirk rolled his eyes, before his gaze dropped, drawn down to the pale line of his gloves. “I thought my views on the subject were well known.”

“You’ve seen it now,” Meenah replied, spreading her own hand up towards herself. “Everything you got taught- None of it was a mistake. You’ve seen Jake, an’ John. Does it really take that much to figure out why you were scared into never taking the same offer?”

For a moment his fingers curled, before he forced them back apart, staring at the soft shadows where the cotton creased across his hand and letting her words play out to the only conclusion that felt natural. He _had_ seen it now, the golden fire and the world falling to pieces, the eyes of the dead and the voice of the Gods. He’d seen it, and nothing Derse had said of the might of mages had been an exaggeration, but what Derse had said of their cruelty, their inhumanity-

Nothing he’d learned from her _was_ a mistake. All of it was a calculation, shaping him to her liking, through her own lips and the ones she’d stolen from those he trusted. He’d been taught to fear and hate what _she_ feared and hated, and with each grand display of might it became harder to ignore the reason _why._

“She’s afraid of me,” he said slowly, and Meenah hummed.

“Seems to be,” she agreed, “and sure as the tides she’s afraid of what you could _become._ ”

Dirk listened to the wind and thought of the breeze that had held John’s wrath and passion bright within it, looked out across the golden sea and thought of fire licking from Jake’s eyes like tears as he promised with each impossible word to give Dirk back what Dirk had never known. He thought of himself, waking from death with Jane’s prismatic hands upon him, and of falling through an ocean of stars that stretched on for all eternity.

He thought of it like he’d thought of everything else, so often. All the truths turned to lies and the fears turned to comforts, all the people he’d hated until he’d known them and the way of life that was still alien to him but no longer seemed so impossible to understand.

Nothing he’d been taught was a mistake.

“Does it hurt?”

Meenah let out a breath that might have been surprise, _relief,_ but told him she understood his question and all the implications. She shrugged, settling back slowly against the stone.

“It’s different for everyone. I heard some people it’s like their arm’s coming off, some people it’s like a feather. If you ask me it’s all ‘bout if you want it, if you’re really _right_ for whoever’s blood’s meeting yours.”

“Is there a way to make sure?”

“We ain’t got a Seer like we used to, and I don’t buy for a second that Pyrope ain’t biased… But we still got a Witch.” She hummed, glancing at him. “If you’re sure you wanna risk not knowing who it’s gonna be, she could get you the best you’re gonna get.”

“It’s better to get someone compatible than someone you want?” He already knew the answer, but the brief thought of Karkat entered his mind and wouldn’t leave it until she nodded firmly.

“Always. Bad bonds fuck shit up, no matter how good the intention. If you do this...” She paused. “ _When_ you do this, you do it _right._ Last thing we need is another Strider going haywire because of a messy bad match- you assholes are powerful, be _careful_ with it or _she_ won’t have anything to be afraid of but you hurtin’ _yourself._ ”

_When._ Dirk rubbed his hand over his eyes and looked away.

“How do I find the Witch?”

“You ask Jake, that’s what you do.”

Ah. Of course, Moon forbid he could do this _quietly_.

Still- he trusted Jake, and out of all the names she could’ve said, to hear that one was a relief. Dirk nodded and let his reality sink in, a choice he knew he’d already made and denied finally there and bare and impossible to set aside. A sword would do nothing against the Empress; it was no secret she had powers of her own. He had never truly believed he could fight her without surrendering to the rites she had long manipulated him to despise, but _knowing_ that made the pill no less bitter as he swallowed hard.

“You never finished your story,” Meenah said after the wind had grown chiller, the sun had dropped lower, a passing of time Dirk had barely noticed from the tangle of his own thoughts. He blinked, looking up and then recalling where he’d halted, flinching away from the memory

“John summoned him. Almost.” Dirk wrapped his arms around his knees and pulled them to his chest, a flash of white chased from his thoughts by red that felt no less upsetting. “He… He was fighting, he kept saying _not yet,_ and I… I don’t know how it ended. I smacked my head on something in the struggle, woke up and it was all a wreck.”

Meenah peered down at him, before she reached out, touching his shoulder lightly. He felt the floor start to grow cool and fluid, but for a moment she held him, kept him in place as she sought words with her curling tongue.

“...You ever asked anyone what Dave could do?”

Dirk shook his head, brows furrowing, and Meenah nodded slowly back.

“Maybe one-a these days you should.”

She dropped him before he could answer, and he fell into the stars and forever, her words forgotten on the wave of awe that carried him to Jake’s bedroom and left him huddled on the bed with one last breath of fresh air in his lungs.

Impatience was a powerful force when it met with desperation, the two boiling in a pit of agitated certainty until Dirk found waiting for Jake didn’t feel like an option anymore. Every second was dragging on, longer and longer, time slowing to a crawl that he could only bear so long by reciting the words he might say when he was alone with the King.

If he didn’t do this now, he wasn’t _going_ to. Fear and doubt would slip back between the cracks, and all his convictions- that had only just found a sense of _meaningful_ direction- would flounder into nothing.

He paced until he felt like he was wearing grooves in the floor, then hurriedly fixed his mask into place and slipped out of the door.

Finding Jake wasn’t an issue. Dirk knew from his time in Prospit that short of a miracle it would be late in the evening before Jake emerged from today’s meeting of the Court, and though he’d never followed Jake into the grand chambers all of the Court congregated within, he knew well enough where to find it and that the presence of personal servants there was not _unexpected_. It would be simple enough to find his way inside and take his place behind his apparent master, and perhaps his presence alone would be enough Jake would find an excuse to-

The thought caught up with him and he felt his cheeks burn with a private embarrassment, ducking his head like the nearby Guards might call him out on his imagination. Jake had no reason to interrupt such important business for _him,_ let alone just because of his _lurking_. He was affording himself a greater worth than he held, an idle fancy of entwined fingers having a purpose beyond comfort, _I’d like it if we were friends_ having weight behind it beyond a nicety.

This wasn’t Derse. These people- they gave some things more freely, others not at all, and he was still fighting to understand the weight of his reality without forcing it into the context of a city that was far away and half forgotten.

Regardless, it would be good for him to see and listen to the Court he’d heard so much of. He could wait, and perhaps there would be enough distraction in what he came to see that he wouldn’t grind his teeth to dust before it was done.

The corridors down in this part of the Palace were unfamiliar to him, but thankfully he found he was not alone in them, stopping one of the men he recognised from the armory and taking the directions offered despite the suspicious narrow of the lone, dark eye nestled among the Prospitan’s wrapped hood. The guidance was not, as Dirk briefly considered, a trick that would leave him walking out somewhere humiliating. Instead it led him to one of the small archways into the Servants’ hidden runs, and he quietly crept towards the murmur of voices beyond, running his gloved fingertips along the rough stone walls that lined the hidden workings of the Palace and did not glitter with false promise.

There was no grand emergence here, no beautiful passage to the center of attention. Instead the run led out behind a curtain, and Dirk held his breath as he peeked around the fabric, before with a rush of relief he saw Jake before him and slipped out to silently take his place beside him.

The Court didn’t pause at his entrance, and Dirk wouldn’t have been surprised if it went entirely unnoticed, despite the blatant position he took. He half expected to be waved back by Jake, but all he got was a sidelong glance and an upward twitch of Jake’s eyebrows that was barely even noticeable. He let his shoulders tense briefly in return, gaze fixing ahead, and suppressed that brief delusion of Jake announcing he had important business and abandoning the Court for the sake of Dirk’s fretful appearance.

This was getting out of hand.

“Furthermore,” the current speaker was saying, a young man in the center of the mosaic floor who pressed one hand to his chest and swept the other around the crowds gathered to watch in their staggered seats, “I declare before the honourable Marked that the solicitation of a truce, while undoubtedly _distasteful,_ would far outstrip the benefits of what are clearly preparations for war as suggested by the honourable Marquis. Have we not in our own lives seen the damage we can do to ourselves in pursuit of violent victory? I motion that all preparation of the army be limited to a defensive contingent and efforts be moved not into attacking forces but into genuine attempts at opening a dialogue with Derse.”

_What?_

Dirk felt hot fury lance through him, his hands curling tightly at his sides. This man wanted to _talk_ with Derse, with- with _her?_ He thought she’d do anything but tear them apart if given the chance?

“Preposterous!” Someone shouted from high on the benches, and there was a ripple of jeers, a few curses spoken loud enough to be clearly heard. A woman called back across the room- “The North hasn’t offered any better!”

“ _Order!_ ” This voice Dirk knew, Terezi’s tones cutting through the hubbub like a knife and silencing the room in an instant. “If any of those present have something to say, they’ll do it down on the floor and be accountable for their words in the eyes of the Sun!”

No one, apparently, had anything to say that they were willing to be _seen_ saying.

Jake slowly shifted forward, leaning his arms across his knees and frowning. The attention of the room was upon him instantly, all focused on his minute shift with bated breath, and the man who had been speaking turned to face him, pressing a hand over the clasp of his own peach cloak.

“Derse is not ruled by a party willing to engage in talks.” Jake didn’t look away from the man on the mosaic, though his voice carried to every corner of the room, clear and cutting in the hush. “I admire your desire for peace, and if I were able I would support the motion entirely; however, you are implying we are making the first move, when we are instead responding to a threat that cannot be ignored without significant losses. Moreover, the Honoured Speaker suggests that we have witnessed such a thing before in our lives. I wish the Court to remember that what we have witnessed was caused by Derse’s _dialogue._ You may consider yourselves strong enough to weather the worst of the Black Queen, but I urge you to remember that so too did Our Lord before me, and so too did Our Lady before him.”

“Our Lord English is not mistaken, but times have changed, and opinions with them,” the Honoured Speaker stepped forward, curling his fingers around the metal sign of his house. “There is no longer weight upon Our Lord of the Day as there was upon his predecessor, and _we_ surely now have weight upon the Black Queen. May I remind the Court of the fact the Heir of the Moon would side beneath a golden banner, something we cannot ignore the significance of.”

Jake frowned at the murmurs that followed, managing to resist glancing at Dirk, though Dirk felt his body grow painfully still. “What the Heir does will be his own choosing, and he will not be used as weight for your political gains.”

“The Honourable Speaker thinks only of Prospit,” the man replied, his confidence eroded by the harsh edge to Jake’s warning. “Surely anything that may aid us is a worthy thought?”

“The Honourable Speaker thinks to play a game that is not his to direct, with suppositions he has garnered from pointless rumour.” Jake lifted his gaze to the room at large, straightening his back. “It will be duly noted by the Court that the Heir of Derse wishes no _dialogue_ with the woman responsible for his family’s murder. If anyone wishes to suggest more talk of truces before me, I would direct them to remember the Throne has suffered its own losses at her hand, and I am bound by the Sun and the Crown to recall them in my decisions.”

Dirk felt a savage pleasure at the way the Speaker recoiled, two steps backwards and a humiliated twist of his mouth punctuating Jake’s point. After a moment the man’s head bowed in a concession, and Jake nodded in return, raising a hand and sending him back towards his place amongst the numerous other Courtiers.

“The opinion of the South and their unified front regarding the matter are noted, and will be taken into consideration.” Jake paused for a soft, satisfied rumble of claps and cries, speaking before the jeers from the other chairs could drown them out. “ _However_ , unless significant support is presently shown, the motion tabled will be discounted.”

“All those for the motion, speak aye,” Terezi called, and a flurry of hands went up along one side of the room with a wave of the word. “All those against?” A much larger motion, a fuller reply, and she strode into view at the base of the dias the throne was raised on, tapping her cane twice before she nodded. “The motion does not move to be passed and cannot be raised again at the session. All forward.”

Dirk didn’t miss Jake’s shoulders drop in relief, even as he felt his own unwind. A vocal minority who he had heard first, that was all, the failed vote enough he could force his anger away and replace it with calm. It couldn’t be raised again here, hopefully never would- If they needed more reason, Dirk could give them _plenty,_ and might even bear their judging gazes to do it.

“The next tabled motion is an adjusted levy on the price of corn, in accordance with current abundance.” Terezi waved her cane and an older Prospitan hurried down from the higher chairs, too swathed in cloth for Dirk to tell anything much about them beyond their apparent desire to be caught by the wind and dragged off into the sky like a kite. “The Honoured Speaker will state her case before all, and it will be heard.”

Before Dirk could be sucked into the colourful world of corn tax, he felt fingers lightly brush his wrist, a shiver racing up his arm as he turned and found Jake more openly looking up to him, brows furrowed.

“...What are you doing here?” Jake murmured when Dirk took the invitation and stooped to hear him. “I told you it’s nothing thrilling.”

“Are you kidding? How would I live without the saga of corn levies to see me through the day?”

“Oh _please,_ only two people are listening to this, and one of them’s Terezi.” Jake glanced down towards the floor, and Dirk followed his gaze, seeing most of the Courtiers had indeed turned to each other to talk quietly instead of paying attention to the dire matter at hand. “As for the rest… I hope you don’t mind my speaking in your place. I didn’t think you’d be fond of your name being used for _that._ ”

“If I’d been speaking for myself there would have been more bruises and less polite rebuttals.” Dirk snorted quietly. “If any of them seriously think they can _talk_ to her…”

“They don’t,” Jake replied flatly, “but they were hoping that by passing a motion we couldn’t follow through with they would cause a stalemate of sorts and retain the status quo. No one likes the idea of war, but the Southern Quarter of the City contains most of the Guilds and most who would be called to serve who also have enough political power to complain about it. It’s a classic tactic, really. Make something impossible seem plausible enough to pass, then delay indefinitely. Nothing changes but you still get to claim you were progressive about the matter.”

“How despicable.” Dirk paused. “Apparently politicians are a universal constant.”

“Unfortunately. Would that we might share the nicer things.” Jake leaned more heavily on the arm closest to Dirk, and Dirk saw his hand coming but wasn’t sure what to do beyond watching somewhat dumbly as Jake’s fingers caught his wrist again, a small brush around the curve of it that shouldn’t have left such a palpable ghost behind it. “You still haven’t told me why you’re here. I would’ve thought you’d’ve seized free time to bother Tavros and the horses.”

“I considered it.” His smile felt false, and it took one disbelieving look from Jake for it to fall. “I have something to ask you.”

“There, see? I knew there was a reason.” Jake hummed, and Dirk was almost disappointed his fingers didn’t reach again, Dirk’s wrist feeling bare as the last memory of the touch faded. “Have at it before someone else needs my attention, mate.”

“Where would I…” His voice faded, unease stirring as heat plagued his cheeks. “I- If I was to-”

Jake watched patiently, quietly, as Dirk tripped over his words, until Dirk looked away and felt fingertips down the side of his palm in that instant, feather soft but burning through all his senses and jolting the words from his mouth in thankfully muted surprise.

“I want to see the Witch,” left him all at once, and Jake pulled his hand back quickly as Dirk faced him, unmistakeable colour darkening his face in the moment before he blinked dumbly and his eyes widened. “That’s the best way to do it, right? She can find me the right… one.”

The process of the words through Jake’s mind was visible in the minute way his expression contorted to cope with them, puzzlement and disbelief giving way to genuine awe as he sat up straight on the throne and stared up at Dirk in wonderment.

“...You want to bond with a Spirit?”

“I reevaluated my situation and- and all I’m doing by not taking the magic-giving hand that’s offered is what she _wants_ me to do. If I’m going to throw myself into a stupid battle and die trying, I may as well arm myself as best I can, right? So there’s these assholes giving out heavy weapons and I was brought up to turn it down but what’s the point of that, really, beyond making sure my ass is nice and ready to get fucked three times over when she takes me down without chipping a single pink claw?” Dirk swallowed as his voice grew faster, urging himself to calm down and face this rationally. “I can still say no, if it’s someone I don’t want, that’s what everyone’s said. Isn’t it worth _trying_ , for the chance of it being someone who might be able to give me _something_ that she isn’t expecting? For the chance I might actually be able to do some good when I throw myself to the sharks, instead of just getting wrecked without reason?”

“It’s still a big thing to face,” Jake murmured, concern in the place Dirk had assumed relief would be. “It doesn’t matter where your thoughts on it all started, if you don’t want to do it, no one is going to make you.”

“I was expecting you to be all over this. Me, finally sucking it up and accepting I was wrong? Must be a gift from Above.”

“That’s not what I…” Jake frowned and glanced down at his hands as they twisted. “Dirk, I would rather whatever you do is what you’re ready for. Harming yourself for the sake of a leg-up is simply-”

“-a wise decision? Jake, whatever Dave had wasn’t enough, and I _know_ I ain’t got nowhere near that. Least I can do is give myself an equal shot.” He paused as the absurdity of it all struck him, but pushed on anyway, mumbling a final, “ _please._ ”

Their eyes met, and Dirk saw Jake’s resolve crumble under the pressure of a single syllable.

“Alright.” Jake rubbed his jaw, sitting back and sighing. “I’ll take you to- her, but I’m coming with you, I won’t have you do something like that alone but for the company of a stranger.”

“I’m touched.” The sentiment was less false than he’d intended, and Dirk forced himself to turn and face the room, watching Terezi quietly whip up enough votes to pass whatever had been agreed best for the corn situation. “...Thank you, Jake.”

Briefly, Jake’s fingers caught on his, curling softly against them in the barest hint of a squeeze. Then they were gone, and Dirk was staring at nothing, thoughts back in disarray and no idea left of what to do about something that had once been an unimportant gesture which now easily reduced him to a speechless fool.

“The motion moves to be passed,” Terezi announced, and he focused on her so he didn’t have to dwell on himself or the King beside him. “It will be seen before the eyes of the Sun and signed by its own Hand. All forward-”

She paused, eyes visibly glowing as she briefly looked to the side, her lips pressing firm together then splitting into a smile.

“The next tabled motion is a petition by the Revered Mother in the North.” She slammed her cane down at the sudden rush of noise, and even Jake sat up quite suddenly at the words. “All _rise._ ”

There was a flurry as every Courtier in the room stood as swiftly as they could, fussing with their shirts and drapery, straightening their golden chains. Dirk couldn’t tell if the atmosphere was charged with respect or fear- likely both, and it only grew worse when Jake stood at the head of it all, gathering his nerves with a long breath and standing as regally as he was able. Dirk’s posture stiffened in response. Whoever this Mother was, it seemed greeting her without the proper level of respect was not something any of the most powerful people in Prospit were willing to risk, and he wouldn’t be fool enough to ignore such a clear warning.

Dirk saw the light first, between the sloped stands, an unnatural glow that marbled across the dark wood in shifting waves not unlike moonlight meeting the surface of the sea. It glimmered forth and cast long shadows across the tiles until it broke free of the tall wooden walls enclosing it, welling up and then washing out in an inescapable rush that set each surface in the room gleaming with a pearlescent vibrancy. For a moment all he knew was awe; then his eyes drew down to the source of the light, as she strode with a sense of luxurious purpose to take her place in the center of the mosaic sun that spread around her like an extension of her glow.

“All rest,” Terezi announced, voice seeming more distant as Dirk found himself transfixed by the Spirit who had taken the floor. “The Court recognises the Revered Mother in the North, the Lady Kanaya of her house Maryam, and lends her all present hearts and minds. Honourable Speaker, your words are welcomed.”

The Court sank back into their seats, but this time no whispers rose. Dirk found himself wishing he could do the same, but he stood silent and watched, reminding himself the presence of someone in a Servant’s garb made them all but invisible, and his continued standing would be easily ignored. It was hard to place _why_ he felt like he was wrong to stay on his feet, but the very presence of the Mother felt worthy of a respect as fittingly reverential as her title demanded, something more pervasive even that the light that cloaked her snow-white skin.

She did not dress like the Spirits about the Palace, though she was undoubtedly one of them. Unlike them the horns usually shaved flat and hidden by their hair stood proud above hers, molten embers shaped into a spear and hook that she carried with the same grace defined in all her narrow features. Her dress was black and dusted with diamond specks like the stars in the sky. It was translucent like a haze, smoke given form, a piece of the sky itself cut thin and swathed about her curves and porcelain structure. The vision was unworldly, as was she.

Her dark lips curved into a disarmingly warm smile, broken by bright fangs that reminded Dirk there was likely a power and a danger to her beyond something as simple as mesmerising elegance.

“I will not take much of the Court’s precious time.” Kanaya’s voice carried in a way unlike Jake’s, not clear and bright but soft and demanding, the sort of tone that made the room stay quiet and lean closer to hear it for fear they might miss a single word. “I am sure it is already well known why I have deemed to be present during current discussions, and those assumptions are likely accurate. My heart is here upon my sleeve, as always, and I shall tear it apart myself before I ever see it bleed.”

“The Honourable Speaker’s intent is no secret to any who know of her,” Jake answered deferentially, though Dirk noted the choice and words and wondered if they were as for his benefit as they felt. “However, the Court will note that the death of the Lady Rose Lalonde was widely reported at the time it occurred, two decades ago. While we must all appreciate the desire of the Speaker to reunite with a companion of note, we cannot well raise those so long dead, and surely offer our collective apologies and sympathy as we must heavy-heartedly dismiss the matter.”

Dirk couldn’t stop himself turning to look at him, an involuntary act of surprise that made Jake hesitate just as he was sitting back. If Rose had been dead twenty years it was certainly a shock to him, and would undoubtedly be more of a shock to Rose herself- assuming that _was_ Rose he had known, Dirk thought suddenly, an unpleasant nausea settling in his stomach, and not someone bearing her name as part of a game he still wished no part of.

“I recall the reports,” Kanaya spoke before Terezi could move to call a vote, stilling the cane that had been about to strike the ground. “I have long believed them, as have all under the Sun, and thought the Seer died on the same day as her King.”

“But you have reason to believe they are false?” Jake’s face was towards her but his eyes were on Dirk, narrowing at the slight nod Dirk gave. “If there is evidence to support your claims, the Court will of course consider it and your petition with refreshed eyes.”

“There is a witness who claims to have received missives that could only be from Rose herself, and further claims the very Assassins who tried to strike you down gave testimony that she lives, imprisoned by the Empress and turned as a weapon against the City she once served more diligently than any other. I came here, as ever, to petition for the collection of her remains in any attack upon the Citadel, but was interrupted and given new hope that I may petition you for her own salvation in place of her bones.” Kanaya turned to face the Court as a whole, spreading her hands softly outwards in a plea that carried through her like a parent seeking a lost child. “The Court must remember all that was done for you by the Seer below the Sun, and know without her constant guidance Prospit would have fallen long before this day ever came to shine. Do her warnings not still guide your hands, years after she last spoke them? Do those of you who bear the scars of our Bonds not recall it was _she_ who expended her energy and wisdom to guide you down paths that still bear you fruit and have kept you from the madness of those who were not so lucky?”

“The Court knows what she has done for us,” Jake affirmed, and Kanaya nodded, sweeping back towards him and striding up to the bottom of the dias.

“Then you know two truths, and the Court will hear them spoken.” The Spirit raised her hands one at a time, weighing scales that tipped with each statement that slipped blunt from her lips. “Rose Lalonde is deserving of your aid if you are to strike at Derse without doubt or hesitation, more so than any other might possibly be, more so even than those you have already made your oaths to- and that if you refuse to accept that and refuse to save her, if the Black Queen retains her forced service, then _you will lose this war._ ”

There were murmurs, then, a tide that began slow and rose, panic and disbelief meeting certainty and passion, all coming together into a flow of a need for _action, proof, reassurance-_

“You are suggesting we save her before any attack,” Jake said slowly, his brows furrowing. “That would be near _impossible,_ and dangerous beyond belief. The Court cannot possibly accept such an endeavour based on anecdotes, even from the Revered Mother. I would see your witness under the Sun and know them that we might judge their worth.”

“And you shall see him,” Kanaya nodded, turning enough to gesture back the way she’d come. “And you _will_ know him.”

Dirk knew at the taste of summer that struck him, at the faint curl of unseen hands that ran inhuman fingers through his hair, but he was alone in his realisation and he wasn’t ready for the way the room lit with life and motion as John stepped out onto the mosaics, a warhammer bound across his back and his usual clothes abandoned in favour of a green mirror of clothes Dirk had once seen Jake wear, layered and bound with a flowing point in the place of golden wings. He wore no crown but the way he walked echoed at last the time he had, his head high despite the furore that was deafening around him, a mix of fear, memory, rumour, punctuated by the sort of shocked denial usually reserved for those who did not sit in a room lit by magic while Spirits spoke of the dead being alive.

John stopped on the mosaic as Terezi angrily slammed her cane down, each hit louder than the last, demanding a silence that did not come but finally managing a hush enough for John to speak.

“The dead have told me Rose lives and I’ve had my own proof of it,” he declared, wind shifting his cloak and hair as they gathered close to him to catch his voice and make sure he was heard. “If anyone wants to deny I’d know her, I defy them to speak, and maybe next tell me I wouldn’t know my own King or my Consort.”

“How long have you known she lived?” Jake stood, taking a step forward, skin pale and lips thin.

“I never thought she died, but I’ve finally got _proof._ I can bring you the ghosts, I can bring you her own hand-written promise that she survived, and would you hear him-” John’s eyes slid to Dirk, a brief flicker- “The Heir of Derse would tell you he knows her.”

There was a leap in volume, another rush of anger and calls that all bled into a mess of sound. Jake and John were staring at each other, both intent and firm, until finally a louder cry broke the din and caught their joint attention.

“ _Five years you’ve hidden!_ ”

Another, louder, _“Coward! Murderer!_ ”

John’s hand went for his hammer-hilt and Terezi’s cane slashed against his wrist as she flickered forward, her teeth bared until he dropped his arm and closed his eyes instead.

“The Court will remember the punishment handed down by a higher power than theirs!” Terezi barked, whipping her cane around the room to point accusingly at those who still cried out. “If they wish to argue with the justice already imparted they will argue with their blades against _me,_ and I will not be merciful in upholding the law as it was given! There will be _order!_ ” She brought the cane down so hard it sparked against the tiles, red flaring from her eyes as her echoing snarl finally cut through the cacophony around her. “ _There will be order!_ ”

Silence fell, stiff and uneasy, and John opened his eyes to stare quietly up at Jake, the King glittering and gold before the throne that had once been his own.

“I’ve lived my chosen exile for five years,” John agreed, voice far too calm for someone who’d just had a room full of Courtiers baying for his blood. “I’ve had my own punishments before it as the Lady gave. When all this is done I’ll face whatever the Court wants me to if it’ll shut it up-” A cry went up that Terezi silenced with a growl, and he continued firmly, “but if the Court refuses to listen to me now, I’ll storm Derse myself to get Rose back and I won’t do it with the delicacy the Court has the chance to exercise.”

“If the Court wishes to talk of _peace_ and _discussions,_ ” Kanaya added, “they will not show their own hypocrisy in denying a chance to reclaim the Seer that will limit our bloodshed and guard our City as she always did and always has. I do not care for your human disagreements, all argument I had with your last King was settled when the Lady gave him fair suffering for his crimes, and any who deny it was enough speak a grave insult against all my kind and those we serve. I implore you to leave such pettiness for times of peace. Now, I petition the Court to seek the safe return of Rose Lalonde, and do anything necessary to guarantee the Seer under the Sun is rescued without delay from the chains of the Moon.”

“The Revered Mother’s petition is heard.” Jake nodded to Terezi when she glanced at him for confirmation. “I suggest the Court vote only on the matter at hand, and not their opinions of who has spoken here today, or I will be forced to question their ability to hold their titles.”

His words sunk heavy into the charged silence, those who had risen slowly returning to their seats, those who had cried now merely muttering their displeasure.

“All those for the motion,” Terezi called, “say _aye!_ ”

Despite everything, so few hands remained down that Dirk couldn’t see them to count, the agreeing cry unhappy but loud enough to fill every inch of the room with reluctant approval.

Terezi didn’t bother calling for those against, nodding curtly. “The motion moves to be _passed!_ It will be seen before the eyes of Sun and signed by its own Hand, and _none_ may refute such a passage. All forw-”

“We’re done,” Jake interrupted, finally tearing his gaze away from John below him. “I- I’m done. The Court is _dismissed_.”

Whatever official way Terezi repeated the command was lost below an angry furore louder even than when John had entered, nearly everyone in the stands leaping up and crying their disagreements as Jake started down the dias and Dirk hurried to follow. Everything was loud, a wall of violent noise on all sides, and Dirk had flashes of the bed of an arena as the lions were let onto the sand, ducking his head to hide it like he might be seen and known and a sword be forced upon him.

He didn’t once think of looking back as he walked out of the grand doors back into the Palace, chasing the billowing red of Jake’s cloak past the dark wood and ignoring the matching glow that caught the edge of his vision and framed his frantic glances. The doors slammed shut behind them and left the anger muffled, the chaos locked away.

“Well Jane is absolutely furious. She seems convinced this is all some calculated effort on John’s part to destabilise an already fraught situation, though given the way their relationship can be I’m relieved she doesn’t consider it an outright personal attack.” Jake huffed and leaned back against the door to click it shut, retrieving a bag he’d hidden beneath his cloak and striding forward to drop it on the bed. “Her mood was already sour though, eh chap? Hopefully it’ll pass and she’ll be able to face this all with a level head.”

Dirk stayed by the window, watching Jake rifle through the bag and start laying out clothes that were thankfully plainer than any Dirk was used to seeing on anyone but John. Hooded tunics, thick belts, gloves that would only cover to the wrist- if his insides weren’t a mess over the _why_ of their excursion, he’d be thankful just for the chance to dress in something that seemed almost _normal._

“I think her mood was my fault,” he murmured, instead of addressing the concerns he’d come up with in Jake’s absence. “We had an… altercation.”

“She referred to it as _a mess_ , but yes. I wouldn’t say it was your _fault,_ but you were certainly part of what sent her sour, though I doubt very much it was by any sort of _design._ ” Jake carefully picked out a pair of high boots and a pair of larger flats, dropping them beside the clothes and frowning at the lot. “She was mainly asking after your health, and if I’d been told about what happened.”

Dirk tensed, looking away. “What did you say?”

“Not yet, but that I’m sure you’ll tell me when you’re ready to.” Jake beckoned him, starting to split everything into two piles. “No mask, but you’ll have to keep your hood up when we’re out. Last thing we need is someone recognising us and causing a fuss when we’re trying to be covert.”

After a moment, Dirk closed the gap, coming over and starting to pull his small jacket off to replace it with the blessed shirt that waited on the sheets. The disguise was light cotton, simple shades of brown and amber, and he took relief in pulling on the dark pants before he slipped the belt around his waist and slipped the clasp together. Jake changed beside him, admittedly with more to do, extra layers gathering in a heap beside the bed as they were ritually undone and tossed aside. In the end they looked a pair, identical but for size and mismatched hues, and Dirk reached for his small leather gloves before pausing and running his fingers over them, chancing a glance at Jake in time to see Jake gazing thoughtfully down at his own hands.

“So…” Dirk cleared his throat. “What was that about?”

“What was what about?”

“In the Court.” He flexed his fingers, pointedly, and Jake’s face went red as he understood. “Us doing the hand thing was some huge deal but you were all over getting your fingers up close and personal just now.”

“...It was different. It wasn’t… bare, and I mean, we’d already gone _that_ far, so I didn’t see the harm in…” He flustered himself to silence at Dirk’s expression, curling his fingers into awkward fists at his sides. “I’m sorry.”

“You make holding hands sound like something it’s _really_ not,” Dirk replied, setting the gloves back down distractedly.

“Well I mean, likely not to _you,_ but in Prospit-” Jake caught himself, stopped, and Dirk sighed.

“We doing this again? Dancing around the point so I don’t get to find out what social faux pas I talked you into while you were drunk? I’ll find out eventually, my man. Isn’t it better it comes from you?”

Jake mulled it over, tightening his belt with his bare fingers to occupy them, then nodded hesitantly. “...I suppose it is, isn't it? I'm not… _entirely_ sure what I told you while I was right up ossified, but I can imagine it wasn't much.”

“You told me what it meant didn't matter, that it didn't apply to what we were doing.”

“Well that wasn't a lie.” His cheeks were an even ruddier tone, and he glanced at Dirk’s abandoned gloves before his face. “Let me start with the gala, as you missed _that_ humdinger of a discussion today. Holding clothed hands like that before the Court is a statement of a bond, a connection. It means… our purposes are one, our houses are married in intent. That sort of thing!”

“Given you stated that pretty blatantly, I'm not sure why the hands would've caused a bigger talk.”

“ _Well._ ” Jake flustered, scratching at his neck and staring pointedly at the bed. “It means a more- _literal_ sort of _married,_ too. Half the Court understood I meant I support you! The other half…” He laughed, weakly, “think I went and betrothed myself to you.”

Dirk’s mind took a moment to remember how to work.

“... _What_?” He said at last, voice jumping unsteadily.

“You heard me. They're always looking for gossip so I should have _known_ how they'd interpret it, but in the heat of the moment…”

“Well you- you told them that's not it, right? You set them straight?”

Jake grinned weakly and Dirk stared at him.

“ _Why_ would you not _explain_?”

“As long as they believe their strange delusions, they _also_ believe I can offer your opinions without dragging you out yourself like a sideshow attraction for them to poke at- and they also know the old _he’s a traitor_ to get them out of facing the threat of the Empress won't do, because as far as they know they'd be personally insulting my future Consort.” Jake shrugged. “It worked out better to just let them carry on! And later I can just _whoops, sorry about the mix-up, chaps!”_

“Well that's just _dandy,_ ” Dirk answered scathingly. “Prospit thinks I'm your chained dog and sucking your dick to keep you happy, but at least they think it's all _for love._ ”

“Would you rather they still think you a traitor to be put to death?” Jake’s tone was unexpectedly sharp, and Dirk stiffened, setting his jaw.

“I'd rather they see me as _me.”_

“Well tough luck, mate. People like us don't get a _me_ as far as the public is concerned. You're always going to be the _Royal,_ never the _man,_ and the best you can hope for is to be a Royal people can get behind instead of one they'd eagerly overthrow.” Jake sighed, voice softening again as he ran his palms down his cheeks and cupped his own frown. “I always forget, you know? But then I go to Court and they remind me I’m nothing but a title. A mannequin beneath a crown, just like every ruler. We aren't people to them, you know? Just _power_ , just a front by which some higher thing is served, and all we can truly do is make the most of that and try and do some good with our faceless glory.”

“So why would they care about an engagement?” Dirk steered away from thinking about himself that way, simply refused to. That was something he’d likely run from until someone was forcing a crown down upon his head.

“All of them are already speaking as loudly as their dignity allows to try to have sway over me,” Jake explained. “Why in Skaia _wouldn’t_ they be angry that I might be inviting someone to stand close enough their whispers become louder than any of the Court’s cries? You know… there are laws, forbidding the Consort from any sort of power or sway. If I _did_ marry I couldn’t even sit with them at dinner, because Sun forbid they might _talk_ to me instead of letting me listen to what all the Courtiers have to say.”

“I can’t imagine the Consorts have ever been happy with that.”

“Oh, they haven’t! But what are they to do? Marriage is the only path to any sort of accepted relationship, but to marry Royalty you must lose everything just so the Court can keep its own petty feelings of importance intact.”

“Hasn’t anyone tried to do something about it?”

“...John did.” Jake paused, then, dropping his hands and folding them over his broad chest and the shirt stretched tight across it. “For obvious reasons, I mean.”

The unspoken truth danced between them, but Dirk decided it was enough of avoiding it, of side-stepping a point that people seemed content to imply and evade. He wanted to hear it, to _know._

“So he could marry my brother?”

Jake sighed.

“...Yes.” Confirmation, release, as cathartic as it was disconnected from Dirk’s life. “Prospitan law would have insisted one of them gave up their respective title and you understand why that was an issue. Dave got rather… _frustrated_ , if John’s testimony on the matter is to be trusted, and had a rather lengthy vocal rant on the topic before the Court of the day, which actually took strides towards changing the law- Our Lady Harley of the time was a firm supporter you see, would have married one of her Chosen if she’d had the opportunity- but then, of course, greater issues arose, John lost favour in place of fear, and the matter was abandoned.” Jake shook his head, pursing his lips. “I think John would’ve had done with it and married the Seer instead if she wasn’t taken, he’s mentioned that a few times, or even Jade- but nothing came of any of it, as far as I’m aware, except the entire hullabaloo putting me off the idea of marriage myself. It seems an awful lot of hassle with a lot of things that could go wrong! A lot of risk for someone else, a lot of sacrifice, and no real reward.”

“Aren’t _you_ the reward?” Dirk asked. Jake laughed, barking and surprised.

“Gosh _no,_ have you met me? I’m not sure anyone would want to spend their life bound to _this_.”

The instant urge to say _you’re wrong_ caught on Dirk’s tongue, and he blinked at quite how strong and swift a reaction it had been, turning away hastily and rubbing his warm hands over one another. _You’re wrong, you’re better than you think._ He shook the words away and for once hated that they were in no voice but his own.

“You said her _Chosen.”_ He commented instead. “Is there a difference?”

“Chosen are those the Spirits deem worthy of helping conceive Heirs. Usually we do not know them, and we certainly do not love them. It’s all this… complex ritual, very impersonal, all arranged by Seers and fate and such.” Jake flapped a hand, and Dirk’s gaze was once more draw to it, still dark and bare, a ridiculously scandalous sight that seemed somehow more tantalising than all the times Dirk had helped Jake dress the rest of himself. “A Consort is the one we love and marry for it, but not one we seek Heirs with. Derse is… different, I presume?”

“Well people certainly know who their parents are, if that’s what you mean.” Dirk scrunched his nose up as the words actually hit him. “So you only have a… Father?” He hazarded, uncertainly. “John?”

“Oh _heavens_ no, John isn’t my father and he wasn’t before my ties were cut, either.”

“Your ties-?”

Jake gave an exasperated smile.

“Maybe we could talk about this on the _way?_ Not to be a bother but we’re burning daylight and we both know the longer we wait the longer you have to get yourself in a fuss.”

“Alright, alright, but-” Dirk held up a hand of his own, pointedly. “You explained what the _gloved_ shit meant. I asked what the skin-to-skin implied, and I’m yet to hear an explanation.”

Jake’s smile faltered and dropped, and he cleared his throat again, gaze travelling down the line of Dirk’s palm before falling to the floor instead. Dirk waited, not moving or backing down, expression firm and expectant; at last Jake nodded and let out his held breath.

“That sort of thing is usually- for after marriage, or between, well, _you know._ It’s personal, very private, the place your soul is bared and you’re not only showing it to another, you’re giving it to them and letting their soul meet it…” Colour bled across both their cheeks, shame to one and realisation to the other, Dirk’s fingers curling as his hands hastily tucked under his arms. “It’s a moment people cherish their whole lives, you know? Something sacred to be saved.”

“You should’ve said no.” It was all he could think to say. Jake laughed.

“...Most likely, yes.”

There was a longer quiet, before Dirk glanced to the only remaining spots of colour on the bed, considering carefully and then daring to ask, “why haven’t you put your gloves on?”

Jake glanced at the dark leather in front of them both, then met his gaze, unwavering.

“Why haven’t _you_?”

Neither of them moved or said any more, just watching each other cautiously, waiting for some give in the other’s expression. Despite all he’d been taught, it was Dirk who broke first, glancing away, and instantly Jake’s hand was out and open, turned upwards, waiting.

“Why?” Dirk managed, eventually. “You just told me it’s this whole big thing to you, but we’re right back here and you’re not even drunk this time. I don’t get it.”

“Because knowing what someone else feels like was… _nice_ ,” Jake answered lamely. “Do I… Do I really need a better reason than that?”

“You told me you’d never touched anyone before. That was true, then? I can’t imagine living that way.”

“I can’t imagine something like this seeming _unimportant_ , so I suppose we’re even there, aren’t we?” Jake spread his fingers, teeth catching his lip. “Please?”

The single syllable was all it took to crack Dirk’s hesitation, and the irony wasn’t lost on him. He lifted his hand, slowly, slipping it onto Jake’s waiting palm and hesitating as Jake’s grip shifted before it took hold, their palms pressing together and their fingers lacing as Dirk found his gaze drawn not to the point of contact between them but to Jake’s eyes, warm as the heat of his bare, soft skin.

“What are we doing?” Dirk asked quietly, searching Jake’s gaze as it didn’t move from his face. It was a world away from the distance he’d felt the night before, so recent but feeling so long ago. This time it felt real, personal, each small tremble as Jake’s grip tightened seeming to ripple up his nerves and set a shiver through him.

“I don’t know.” Jake held like he would fall without Dirk to keep him steady. “I’m not sure I’m ready to face it.”

Dirk finally looked down along his arm and strangely all that came to his mind was how easy it would to turn this to a hold of a different kind; a thought he hadn’t put voice to followed, shy and sweet.

“One day we’ll dance.” He squeezed, then put his other hand up on Jake’s shoulder, not quite looking at the fresh blush it caused. “You owe me that, after making me spend so long on that dance floor alone.”

“You weren’t alone.”

“I wasn’t with you.”

Their gazes met, and Dirk parted his lips to say something he didn’t quite finish finding, drawing his hands back instead and curling his fingers into his empty palms as Jake’s hand lingered in the air, looking hollow without another to fill it.

“One day we’ll dance,” Jake echoed, soft and uncertain.

Dirk took the gloves from the bed and slipped them over his chill fingers, belting them firmly into place.

It was odd to leave the Palace the same way he’d once arrived, climbing carefully over the rails of Jake’s balcony and hurrying low from rooftop to rooftop, steps light on the sun-hot metal beneath their feet. Jake knew the threads that guarded the Palace and with his guidance Dirk even began to pick them out, the heat-shimmer of magic in the air, distorting the world in a way that made his eyes water when he gazed at it too long. He thought of Karkat telling him it was easier after bonding, realised soon he’d see magic as clearly as Jake could.

Whether the thought filled him with excitement or _fear_ was too hard to pick apart. He let the butterflies in his stomach run wild without narrowing their source.

They wove around the protections and slipped lower down the slopes that led towards the City, pausing on the wall that edged the Palace grounds and staring out at the great expanse of buildings and people around them, a world Dirk had travelled through once without stopping long enough to care for it. It shimmered beyond the haze of what he now knew to be the first of Propsit’s famed Wards, rising endless into the sky and guarding the Palace should the city fall, another protection afforded twice to those with power but not to those without it.

“You told me it’d kill me, once.” Dirk reached, hesitating a brief moment before running his fingers through the barely-there barrier, watching it part and ripple around his touch like a running stream around rocks. “How long has that been a lie?”

“Long enough, but you already knew that.”

“What’s to say I won’t have you lead me through the city then run? Why are you so sure I’ll stay?”

Jake pondered it, before moving forward, crouching to drop down into the quiet street below.

“...You owe me a dance,” he said. Dirk’s face burned as he followed, and no more questions came.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Relationship tags have altered with certain confirmations. Comments are as ever very welcome and I'll answer them all as best I can :)!


	7. Split the Sky

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A choice has been made and set in motion, and though Dirk is hesitant he knows in his heart he has to follow it through. But which Spirit is waiting to be the one to claim him? And will the gift he is given be worth going against all he was taught and paying the ultimate price?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm alive, KotS is alive, how are you guys? This has been a labour of love, with a lot more to come, but from this point, things will really be changing. Thank you for being patient, and I hope you're excited for all I have in store.

 

It was stranger than Dirk had expected it to be, seeing people at work under the heat of the sun. Even if the light was low and dwindling now, it was still _there,_ and he could feel it prickling through the fabric of his hooded shirt as Jake led him down another street between the gleaming bronze and marbled stone. Somewhere there was a hiss of steam, a rush of water; elsewhere hooves thundered, wheels clattered, and voices called orders and acknowledgements too fast for Dirk to pick them apart.

Strangest of all was no one giving either of them a second glance. Dirk was used to the way Jake carried himself, the way that walking with him meant being the focus of all attention, so to have to push past bodies who hadn’t thought to move for either of them was odd, as was seeing Jake’s shoulders slumped and low, his bulk seeming to shrink without his usual aura to hold it up. The bashful _excuse me_ that Jake uttered as he slipped awkwardly past a man busy at work packing up a stall of fruit sounded all at once very out of place and just like him- It was the sort of voice Dirk had grown used to hearing in his bedroom, but never to anyone else.

He refused to acknowledge the jealousy that ran below the thought.

Prospit was more open than Derse, streets wide and buildings steadily lower, but it made up for it in the swell of activity that made the broad walkways seem tight despite the space they might’ve held. The warmth of bodies replaced the warmth of the light as it slipped away, and as the glow from above began to go dim, strings of lanterns were lit above them to fill the dark city with luminescent rivers in the place of the frozen ocean, cracks of fire that were set in motion by figures who swung past on long stilts with flaming poles clutched in their hands to dip into each globe and leave another light amongst the glowing swarm.

Dirk watched another of them loom past, impossibly long legs forged of iron-shod wood loping across him as his wide eyes soaked in the flash of sparks that trailed behind the woman, her face wrapped in amber cloth and her eyes catching her own light and reflecting it back into the gloom she extinguished a moment later with another line of lanterns that forced back the dark and threw crisp shadows across the flagstones. She galloped on and away, the metallic thunder of her false feet fading away as she rounded a corner out of sight. No one but him even blinked at her passing, their chatter uninterrupted but for one man catching his hat and holding it in place so the breeze didn’t whip it away.

“Keep up, mate.” Jake’s hand clapped his shoulder and made him jump, attention snapping back to the hidden King. A lopsided smile met his surprise, a little laugh slipping out of it. “I suppose you’ve never seen a night-runner or their sort before?”

“Our lanterns never go out,” Dirk answered, glancing back over his shoulder. “They’re a stone that glows… Frozen magic, from deep in the mines.”

“I’ve heard of your mines. They say if a man danced too hard your whole city would collapse because the ground below it’s so run through with the paths you’ve carved from the earth.”

“We are very, _very_ good at reinforcing tunnels,” Dirk replied with a sigh, “or else that might actually be true.”

“Well, _we_ rely on wicks and wax.” Jake nodded up to the strings they passed as they walked, each lantern glowing a different hue so the street was bathed in overlapping puddles of colour. “Someone has to light them, tend to them, watch for fires. The runners lap the city, keep it lit without letting it burn. A very respected job to do, very demanding. I can’t imagine spending so long running place to place, but somehow they manage.”

“Couldn’t you just…”

“Use magic? Of course, but sometimes there’s just a way things have always been done, and no one wants to change it.” He paused, then grinned, nudging Dirk’s shoulder. “Listen to you, eh? I remember you complaining we used too much magic, and now here you are bothered we don’t use enough!”

“Some places magic makes sense, and others it doesn’t. Lighting your _entire city?_ ” Dirk spread his hands. “ _Magic_. Lacing a glove? You have hands, despite your best attempts to pretend you don’t.”

“Have you _seen_ our laces?”

“...That’s… a fair point. But _still._ ”

Jake shrugged, turning away and watching another stilted runner rush past them. “Not everyone here has powers, Dirk, and we can’t just summon endless Spirits like we used to. There’s worth in letting the people live mundane lives, in keeping this city from becoming entirely reliant on the gifts of a few.”

“I’m sure there are people who would disagree with you.”

“Doubtlessly so. I’m sure everyone would have opt for the easiest option if they could! But the easiest option relies on the good graces of something we could lose at any moment, and one day they would regret their choice to make an unsteady pillar a load-bearing one.”

Jake hooked his arm around Dirk’s, elbows catching around each other. He was pulled across what he realised with a startled glance was some kind of horse-lane, carriages and carts thundering behind them just as they reached the other side. Dirk watched the rush that closed the path, tall horses snorting heated air that fogged around their noses as they dragged the heavy loads of the city in their wake, guided by reins of leather, and chains, and gilded silk that would not hold them if they fought against it.

“What’s Derse like?” Jake asked once Dirk’s attention returned to him, curiosity rich in his face and more vivid in the absence of his painted sun. “Not like this, I’d wager.”

“Everything is tall, close together. There are paths between windows, balconies, all the way up… the streets aren’t used very often.” Dirk raised a hand then dropped it, slipping his fingers under his hood to rub his neck. “I used to run the roofs, with Roxy. It’s quiet up there, the air’s clear, long as you’re not near the chains or the factories. You can see all the stars and the Moon above.”

He glanced up at the thought, but with all the lanterns laced across it the sky was nothing but black, the Moon just a white pool instead of the speckled glory she held in the Dersite sky. Homesickness swelled in him for the first time in too long; he bit it back.

“It’s quieter. Business is done inside, not out like this.”

“We have indoor markets,” Jake hummed, looking over the last stalls being cleared away. “Bigger than this- but only to the south. That’s where the Guilds are- I told you, I think? Well most big business is there, too. These are smaller, just for the people nearby.”

“Derse has indoor mews. Streets but covered, between stores, winding and easy to get lost in if you don’t know the way. There’s always hidden doors, too, speakeasies, all sorts, the gangs all have their own symbols to mark them and knocks or passwords to get in.”

“Gangs?”

“Derse is divided between large groups who are in _theory_ working for the state. In practise? Not so much. Empress gets a fee from them and they get to run their quarters however they want.”

Jake’s horrified expression made Dirk laugh, raising a hand to cover his mouth and stifle it.

“That sounds _ghastly._ ”

“Oh, and Prospit is better? I’ve seen your Court now, and just because they wear painted signs and jewels, your lessers aren’t any better. Politicians are a universal constant, Jake. Some of ours just admit their character, instead of cloaking it in wealth and false manners.” Dirk shrugged. “There’s still that sort, in Upper Derse, it’s all pomp and circumstance, rumour and feuds. In Lower Derse it’s left to the gangs and they have their own code of honour, but they don’t act better than they are. Jack’s lot were one of them, once.” He paused, smiling faltering. “The… The people who were at the Gala. They were so good at what they did the Empress asked them to work directly for her instead.”

“That’s quite the change in circumstance.”

“They… didn’t exactly get a choice. The pay was better, but despite what they’d been led to believe in life, money isn’t everything. The Empress, as it turns out, is pretty hard to deal with. Who knew.”

He hadn’t meant it to come out so bitterly, but it was sharp enough it cut the conversation, making Jake wince and look away from him. In the quiet- as much as Prospit _could_ be quiet, music floating down one street and drunken revelry down the next- Dirk became aware of the fact their arms were still linked, his eyes flicking to the join and then around to see if that had gained any sort of horrified attention. No one seemed to be paying it mind, and Dirk saw the same hold in one couple, another- He couldn’t tell if it implied anything or was simply a way to hold another without touching hands, but he relaxed with the confirmation it was somehow a _done thing,_ tightening his arm around Jake’s and settling back into step with him.

“You told me we could continue our talk out here.” Dirk didn’t look over, gaze mapping the carved suns that adorned the wall they were hugging the shadow of instead. “We stopped at something about ties.”

“Oh, yes, we did, didn’t we?” Jake’s sigh was soft, punctuating the dip of Dirk’s eyes to a painted fresco showing a sea view in the place of the plain stone it covered. “Ties aren’t a _thing_ in Derse, I suppose? Or if they are, you simply keep them.”

“It would help if I had any idea what a _tie_ was in this instance.”

“You know! The bonds of blood. Family, that sort of thing?”

“...Then yes, Jake.” Dirk gave him an incredulous look. “We have _families_ in Derse.”

“Good! We… don’t.”

“What.”

“We don’t,” Jake repeated. “At least, not the sort we keep. At eighteen our ties are cut, the link is severed. I don’t have parents, which isn’t to say I didn’t _have_ parents, or that anything particularly dastardly has happened to them- I simply don’t have parents anymore, and they no longer have a son. We dissolve family bonds and in such, most are free to live a life free of the pressures of lineages and such. No name to live up to but the name of your mentor, no restrictions before you but the ones of your own circumstance. Obviously it wasn’t quite like that for me, or Jane, Royalty is… a little different? But still, beyond John being Jane’s father purely in terms of explanation as to her own place in that particularly unique line, there’s no bond beyond our titles.”

It had been some time since Dirk was left speechless by some manner of Prospitans, but this managed it, his lips open in a silent search for an evasive retort. Jake took this as an invitation to keep talking, merrily digging the hole deeper and leaving Dirk in confusion at the bottom.

“Some people never have parents, you know? The Spirits deal with matching suitable people and then take care of the children- or, rather, _Kanaya_ does, her and her cult. Royalty was always done that way, they found a suitable partner for the current Royal and they’d make sure the Heir had all the attributes they’d need to rule effectively, and we never get to know our Chosen- the other part of that pairing- because it’s less people with power over us, or some such? It doesn’t always work out that way, but usually… and of course, it became the fashion first, then a practicality. The population is controlled by Kanaya, people can contribute even if they can’t care for a child, and normal people have no past weight on them once they’re an adult! It’s an efficient system, removes a lot of fuss.”

Dirk finally found enough sensible thought to splutter.

“ _What the fuck,_ I- I don’t know where to _begin_ with any of that but holy _shit_ I’d forgotten what a mess this place is and then you go and remind me with- what do you mean you _never get to know them?_ The Spirits say hey, wear this blindfold and go in this room?”

“I’m told there are _substances_ you take.”

“ _Moon save me_. You get high and have mystery sex and then out comes the genetically engineered Heir.” Dirk wiggled his arm free, ignoring the pout Jake aimed at him. “And you- Have you _done that?_ ”

“No. I don’t particularly _wish to,_ either, but… duty demands it, and other predictable nonsense.”

“ _Nothing_ about this is _predictable._ No wonder everyone in the Court was fussing like their mother had just strode in, it sounds like she basically _had._ ” Dirk wove his way between a gaggle of children, all noticeably in matching clothes now he took the time to _look,_ red cloaks fixed shut with a row of green stones. “Stars and dark- How do you all have two names? Where does the second one come from? Is it just like the first?”

“We choose them. We have _households,_ Dirk, they’re just not bound by _blood._ ”

“You know in Derse having a family name is an _honour._ Most people don’t get to have one, they have to be _granted,_ along with a coat of arms. Family is- It’s _everything,_ it’s all most people have, living up to what’s come before and proving you’re deserving of it. No wonder you all call him my brother like it’s a _title,_ it may as well be to you, right? To me it’s- It’s all I’ve got, the only thing that was ever _mine,_ a name I didn’t even _understand._ ” He bit his cheek hard to stop himself, shaking his head. “How could you throw people away like that?”

“We don’t throw them away, if we’re on good terms we don’t just pretend they don’t _exist,_ they’re just… people, now, without anything more, and that relationship is _earned_ and kept like any other, including letting it _go._ How do your people cope if their family is rotten, if that’s a bond to never break? How could they live without a way to leave it behind?”

“It’s _family!_ You- You just _manage!_ ”

“But why should you _have to?_ Why is the pressure to cope with their behaviour on _you,_ not on _them_ to change it?”

“At least where we come from _means something._ ”

“Like it meant something for _you?_ ”

Jake caught himself the moment it was out, covering his mouth and starting an apology that Dirk silenced with both hands, raised in a deadened _stop._

“It was used against me,” Dirk said far more calmly than he felt, anger lashing behind the quiet. “I know that now, and I won’t let that pass unpunished. But even when I thought he’d done something terrible, I _loved him,_ I wanted to be worthy of his pride. Sometimes people _do_ hate what they’re given, and they move away, they _do_ leave it, but if I’d been told that at a certain time my one link would just be _severed_ I don’t know what I would’ve done.”

“It isn’t severed, not like you’re making it sound. It just isn’t _assumed_ anymore, it’s… a choice. I can’t imagine a life where someone had a _right_ to be a part of my existence without me having a say in it.”

“I can’t imagine a life where the people who made you might not even know each other’s faces.”

“So people don’t drink in Derse?”

The strain buckled, and Dirk snorted, managing a thin but thankful smile.

“...Alright, perhaps I _can_ imagine it, but I can’t imagine it being _mandatory._ ” He let Jake take his arm again after a moment, ignoring the relief as he was held tight again. “Don’t you ever wonder who it was?”

“Not particularly. I think I might’ve, if I’d had the chance to? But even when I had ties, it was John who looked after me, and I learned not to question that.”

“So you never knew..?”

“I didn’t say that.” Jake rolled his eyes. “I knew her, I know her, soon you’ll know her just the same. She just wasn’t there, so she never felt like more to me, even when she might’ve been.”

Dirk processed it and looked ahead as the flagstones beneath their feet broke back to rougher cobbles, the houses around them now low and tarnished where others had shone. It was jarring, now he noticed, how suddenly the state of the city had changed around them. There was no gradual fade, but what may as well have been a hard wall, one street all that separated some sense of wealth from the clear lack of it. Jake pulled him closer, and the motion wasn’t lost on him, nor the way Jake’s shoulders had tensed back to a warning line. It made the question Dirk had almost asked fade in place of a better one.

“You don’t like it here?”

“I don’t usually come here without guards,” Jake admitted uneasily. “It’s… _you know._ It’s not a _good_ place.”

The sentence was easy to translate, but Dirk didn’t like what he heard in it, his stomach twisting.

“You mean it’s not a _rich_ place,” he said flatly, eyebrows knitting together. “What are you afraid of, exactly? Their desperation? Or the reminder that your Golden Palace is a pretty little fantasy?”

Somehow, Dirk had fallen prey to that fallacy himself. 

Surrounded by the Courtiers and their servants and all the splendour of Jake’s life, Dirk had never thought back to the city he had swept through when he first arrived. Even close as it was it seemed distant and unreal, still a story that was half slander and half idealisation. The streets of Prospit in his mind were as glittering as the paths he had come to walk each day at Jake’s direction, the people just as proud and peculiar, and somehow in all his brief fancies he’d never once thought of dirt tarnishing the glamour, of the rust that ate at all the Gold.

But here it was. He looked around and saw something recognisable and familiar in the cracked stones and the boarded windows, the smell of open hearths in the air and the way the people here wore clothes patched by hand to last far past they were intended to. He’d seen the poor of Derse from the safety of a rooftop and come to know them when he finally grew brave enough to descend to the long-abandoned streets, and he had seen them coping with what they were given, a basic sort of living they were granted to keep the peace.

He’d forgotten there would be the same in Prospit when he lived in a world wrapped in riches and Royalty, but as it spread before him he realised with unease that the basic standard he’d taken for granted was _absent._

“Who feeds these people?” He asked in a hush, watching a man ladle out a broth too thin to far too many bowls.

“They feed themselves,” Jake replied, and Dirk could hear the guilt in it.

“They starve, you mean, and you look another way?”

“It’s not- I don’t-” Jake floundered. “What am I supposed to do?”

“ _Help them._ ” Dirk stared at him. “Put your damn corn levies somewhere _useful,_ instead of a treasury that’s already _full._ ”

“The Court wouldn’t vote for that sort of thing-”

“Of course they wouldn’t! They’re _rich._ ” Dirk gave a little exasperated hiss, trying to keep everything quiet despite the urge to snap. “Sometimes- Sometimes you can’t do things by committee, Jake, sometimes you just have to _do it._ You’re- _you,_ ” he said, thinking better of announcing Jake’s title, “and these people _need_ you.”

“I don’t know where to begin.”

Dirk took a breath.

“ _I do._ ”

They stared at each other, feet catching and falling still, and Dirk leaned closer, talking in as firm a mutter as he could manage.

“I couldn’t be King but this- I _know this,_ I know because I’ve spent my life looking and our cities might not be the same but if you peel away the glamour they aren’t so different, either. You know how to steer a Court but you have no clue how to deal with _people,_ do you, outside the Palace and the world you’ve all constructed neatly inside it so you don’t have to look at the cracks.” He frowned, squeezing Jake’s arm tightly in his own. “I spent forever slipping _through_ the cracks and learning every way they can break, and if I do one useful thing here while I’m parading around in your colours and your signs it may as well be to force you to _look at them_ and get that things like you have- they don’t break from the _top,_ they break from the _bottom._ ”

Jake nodded slowly, clearly listening, which was more than Dirk had actually hoped for, and Dirk straightened, not looking away from him.

“If _you_ want a pillar to bear a load,” Dirk murmured, “you sure as _hell_ make it strong enough to take it.”

The world around them was a dull mockery of the beauty Prospit tried to shine with, hidden beneath sloped roofs that seemed all anyone had treated well. A pleasant view from the buildings above with the money to afford it, a rug to sweep the less fortunate beneath and forget about them. Unlike Derse climbing upward through necessity, Prospit had left these people behind by choice, and it showed in the boundary that might as well have been prison bars, in the struggle that lined the buildings and faces here in equal part while wasteful decadence left their leaders satisfied and willfully ignorant of their plight.

At least Derse had put a floor to catch how low the unfortunate could slip, remembering those who held up its foundations. Prospit seemed to have let them fall deeper into pits worse than any mine.

There were too many people huddled around each doorway, too few lanterns above and too many pools of darkness that near-ruined candles couldn’t fight back. The cobbles were marked with missing stones and cracks deep enough to break an ankle on, and down alleys were extensions built of scrap and fabric that wouldn’t possibly keep out any rain, piles of waste burrowed through with searches for one more useful relic, one more thing too precious to be left aside.

The man had finished scooping out the portions and drank his own from the bowl. It dripped onto his tongue as he sought whatever he could urge forth from the depths, and others scoured their bowls with tongues and gloves pieced together desperately from any fabric that would fit, decorum clung to even in the face of absolute destitution.

“Money doesn’t make people worth your attention, _need_ does, the fact they’re _people_ does, and this mess is just as much yours to clean up as theirs to suffer. They can’t help themselves, but a _fraction_ of what any single member of your Court has could help them, could start to _fix_ this.” Dirk started them walking again, steps stiff and firm. “Even Derse’s _ghastly_ gangs manage to look after our own, Jake. What’s stopping _you?_ ”

“Everything I’ve ever been taught was- You do what the Court agrees on, you don’t step outside those lines or… Or, well, you end up like John!” Jake glanced around then ducked his head again uncomfortably, though now he seemed more pensive than afraid. “After everything that happened, everyone is always looking at me so closely when I make choices, deciding if there’s the signs of madness in me. They’d throw me out, you know, if they found them, or they decided they had… I took enough of a risk declaring war.”

“If you want to go to war, you can’t do it with your people turned against you.”

“You think they’re against me?”

“Well they aren’t _with_ you.” Dirk frowned. “They’re starving, Jake, they’re likely _dying._ Anyone who ignores them is no friend of theirs.”

Jake nodded slowly, arm shifting to easier accommodate the hook of Dirk’s elbow as their steps fell into a beat that kept them beside one another, Dirk’s feet moving faster over the uneven stones to match Jake’s distracted strides. No one around seemed to look at them, but whether it was to be polite or out of fear of strangers Dirk didn’t know. What he did know was the smell of salt as it started to grow thicker in the air; the murmur and call of gulls reached his ears now his own words weren’t keeping them full, and he turned his head towards it all.

“We’re not _that_ close to sea-”

“Salt water in the river and the lake that it feeds,” Jake answered, smoothly. “Our drinking water comes from springs below instead, and the fishermen sail straight to sea from our docks. The gulls once followed them home and liked it so much they never left, that’s what people say.”

“Derse is on a cliff above the ocean. We have a harbour below, straight into it.”

“I didn’t think any of your city was outside the wall.”

“It’s not.” Dirk shrugged. “We make full use of the space we’re given.”

“One day I’d love to see Derse,” Jake murmured. Dirk couldn’t hide the surprise in his face, despite it being something Jake had mentioned before. It brought colour to the Prospitan’s cheeks. “It sounds so different… So interesting. I used to think it must be some terrible nightmare but everything you’ve said is just… I’d love to witness all of that, I suppose, the tall buildings and the people and all the way you live. Perhaps some of it wouldn’t sit well with me, but…” He gave a thoughtful glance at the run-down street around them. “...I don’t think sitting in an ivory tower is any better than facing things that unsettle me.”

“I didn’t think I’d ever like it here.” Dirk wasn’t sure himself if it was an agreement with Jake’s sentiment, and he looked away before Jake could catch his eye. “You’re more adaptable than you think.”

“Prospit is better for having you.”

“...I think I’m better for having been in Prospit.”

Jake loosened his grip enough to briefly catch his fingers on Dirk’s arm, brushing them down towards his wrist before catching himself and slipping his arm back through properly with a soft cough.

“It’s, uh. This way, through here.” He tightened his grip to pull Dirk along with him, slipping through a path between two houses that had started to slump and lean unsteadily against one another, likely ready to crumble at the wrong touch. “She’ll likely be excited for the company, so forgive her if she’s a bit over-eager. She… _is_ the best at what she does, it’s worth a bit of manhandling, usually.”

“Manhandling.”

“She’s very, well! _Dersite_ , apparently.” Jake laughed quietly, ducking under a few jutting wooden struts and then gesturing ahead. “Very unique, at least, as you can probably already see.”

The rubble ahead of them had likely once been a house, and indeed it was sandwiched between identical buildings that seemed to suggest it had once been just the same. Now it was just ruin, rocks gathered in a loose pile and barely standing remnants of walls; but from it came the twisting, seemingly ancient roots of the tree that spread above it, thick trunk spreading out into low, dense branches that all knotted around one another into a matted kind of floor and up into what were clearly walls, a roof all covered with green foliage and grand white flowers glowing softly against the coming night. From within the mass of wood glowed the lights of fire-flicker and life, and Dirk stared for a moment at the Witch’s den before he turned to Jake, his eyebrows high and his lips apart.

“Yes, yes, it’s pretty, isn’t it?” Jake urged him forward, hesitating when they were halfway across the street with a softer, “oh _bugger_.”

From within the grasping roots and the shadowed hollows that weren’t filled with rubble, two stars glowed with verdant power, swaying for an instant before they came forward and the white muzzle ahead of them slipping from the darkness and spreading into the face of a hulking hound too large to be any natural breed. Dirk tensed and felt Jake quickly squeeze his arm in comfort, watching the beast pad down the rough stone until it was on the road with them, tall as Dirk when it sat back and waited silently for something that Dirk hoped Jake knew how to give.

“Now then, boy, I figured you’d be sleeping by now.” Jake wet his lips, spreading his free hand as he raised it towards the watching dog. “Come on, please, we’ve walked all this way to talk to her and I really don’t fancy walking it all over again.”

It panted in response, and Dirk would’ve thought the exchange ridiculous if not for the warning crackle of green lightning that flashed between its fur, whole form shifting out of view in a way that made his eyes water. He stepped closer to Jake’s side, hardly breathing, wondering if this was a new form of Spirit or something worse, and it tossed its head with a snap of its jaw, heated breath bursting out in a fog.

“Listen, mate, I know we don’t see eye to eye but this visit isn’t even _for_ me and I don’t think she’d be happy knowing you’d dropped a visitor into the lake again or whatever you’re planning on doing.” After an uneasy silence Jake drew his arm out from Dirk’s, raising his other hand the same. “Look- _Look,_ if you’re going to do this, just me, alright? Dirk needs her help and you can shove me back up that mountain if you want, I’m sure you thought that was _hilarious,_ but let him in, won’t you?”

For a long moment the beast stared him down, tongue hanging out between sharp teeth as long as Dirk’s hand. Then it snapped its jaw shut again, sparking unpleasantly with a glow that raced up the tree and knocked a rolled-up ladder loose, the rope and bars tumbling down and bouncing before they fell into place.

“ _Thank you,_ ” Jake sighed in relief, wrapping an arm around Dirk’s shoulders and hurrying them both towards the offered path upwards. “I’m in your debt, _again,_ so whenever you want to throw that all back in my face…”

The dog gave a noise that sounded uncannily like a breathy laugh, then yawned and began back towards the hollow it had come from as Jake stood and hopefully gestured for Dirk to ascend. Despite his questions Dirk grasped the ladder and began up it in silence, glancing once down to see a white tail flicking out of sight before focusing intently upwards and continuing on his way towards the living house.

He waited on the platform above for Jake to follow, eyeing the building in front of himself now he could see it clearer. There were windows laced with slim vines and covered over with woven curtains from within, a heavy fabric for a door weighed in place with a metal bar threaded through the base of it. Smoke rose from a chimney that was covered with darker flowers all dusted with soot, and fireflies danced between the luminescent blooms, making the view seem even more something from a child’s story.

“Bricks and mortar would’ve been far too mundane,” Jake commented dryly when he finished climbing, wiping his hands off and narrowing his eyes at the spectacle. “She would’ve lived in the wilds if she didn’t have to be inside the Ward to maintain it.”

“She’s the one who keeps the Ward up?”

“One of them. She’s the conduit, of sorts, who helps thread it all together.” Jake sighed, gathering himself and fussing with his hair as he lowered his hood. “She’s going to make a song and dance out of us coming, I can _feel_ it.”

“...You don’t visit her often,” Dirk tested his suspicion, and Jake grimaced.

“ _She_ could visit _me_ any time she likes. It isn’t my fault she doesn’t.”

“Well it’s not like there’s a tie there.”

“If she wants to act like there should be, it isn’t just on _me_ to keep it going,” Jake countered, and Dirk covered his relief at not making the wrong assumption with a smile that was more knowing that he actually felt, a leap of faith from fragments of knowledge hardly worthy of pride like a clearer deduction. “Shall we get this over with?”

“What if I’d like to drag it out?”

“I didn’t realise my suffering pleased you so much.”

Dirk turned to hide his laugh, stepping forward and glancing from the interwoven leaves to the gossamer webs that were stretched over the corners of the door. With a deep breath he reached forward and pushed the curtain aside, shaking away the heavy smell of incense that struck him before he stepped through into the warm home beyond.

For one instant among the shadows he saw the vivid-coloured relics adorning the walls, the patterned fabrics across the blankets and cushions that covered the woven chairs and the hammock that swung empty beside stacked piles of books, all of it thrown into sharp contrast by the single fire that lit it all from below. Then the silhouette by the hearth shifted and saw him, or as much of him as the firelight caught; he barely had time to take in her size before she was rushing towards him, silver hair whipping out behind her and her shadow casting across him.

“ _Dave!_ ”

Dirk didn’t have time to protest the word that sent his heart plummeting before her arms were around him, consuming him in the sort of hug that he hadn’t felt since before he left Derse. Jake’s once-mother was as tall as he was, and easily plucked Dirk from the ground in her excitement, her laugh shaking her broad shoulders as she stifled it in Dirk’s.

Surely everyone knew? He tried to push back, awkward and uncertain. How could the news not have travelled this far?

“I’m not-” He wheezed, her grip tighter even than it felt. “I’m _not Dave._ ”

“- _Oh._ ”

Her head had just been starting to lift and turn towards him, and he saw the moment she startled now she was close enough to _see_ , close enough the flicker of the hearth didn’t distort his face. He was hastily set down, her cheeks dark as she looked him over more closely. “Oh! _Oh,_ gosh, I’m sorry, I swear you looked just like-”

“He’s dead,” Dirk cut her off, blunter than he’d meant to. She blinked at him owlishly, calling the glow of the flames to spread and bathe the room in a gentler aura of light with a beckoning motion, then nodded, smacking her hands down onto his shoulders and looking his face over entirely in the new, all-encompassing glow that caught his features fully and showed them well.

“Why would _that_ matter _-_?”

“Jade,” Jake finally managed to squeeze between Dirk and the wall and get in, looking at them with apparent blissful ignorance of the exchange he’d missed. “I hope we didn’t catch you at a bad time.”

“There’s never a bad time for you to visit!” Jade answered brightly, leaving her previous thought forgotten and Dirk biting back an irritated demand for her to continue. “Which makes it even _more_ ridiculous that you _never do, Jake._ ”

“You could come to the Palace.”

“And be dragged back into staying there? No. I _told_ John I’m not coming back until he faces his problems and I _meant_ it!” Jade squeezed Dirk’s shoulders, gently, before she let go and stepped back towards the fire, letting him get a better look at her. He could see she was Jake’s blood in her face and her smile, though it was lined deep with time and strain and her hair had all bleached just the same. She wore a tunic and high white gloves, boots tall below her skirt. All of her was built and broad and the sort of muscle that could break a man in two, but she smiled like the sun was shining within her, and her laugh was bells and brightness.

“Perhaps John would have a better time…” Jake began with the weariness of one who’d had this argument before.

“If I was there? You _know_ that’s not the point! He knows what he has to do if he wants me back, and it _isn’t_ hiding in a hole in the ground, and it _isn’t_ swinging a hammer around without reason.” Jade grabbed a bottle from a shelf and pulled the stopper out with her teeth, shaking out a hefty dose into the bowl above her hearth and pressing the cork back into place as the mixture hissed and spat. “We aren’t going to talk about that today, Jake! Or any day, actually, seeing as it’s _none_ of your business.”

She set the bottle back into place, patting along a different shelf until she found a metal spoon and started to stir. “Why don’t we talk about what you’re here for? _And_ where in Skaia you found Dirk- It _is_ Dirk, then, right? Oh you were so _tiny_ last time I saw you, and look at you now!”

“He came to kill me,” Jake replied succinctly. Dirk nodded after a moment when Jade’s eyes fixed on him, making a face at his companion.

“It sounds terrible when you say it like _that._ ”

“Oh, I’m sorry! He came to murder me in my sleep, but it turned out the Black Queen was trying to set _him_ up, so it’s fine.” Jake swept an arm back around Dirk’s shoulders and pulled him close, something Dirk was less opposed to than he’d expected. “We’re the best of friends now, so it’s fine, really.”

“Rose was right,” Jade murmured, then abandoned her spoon to the pot to turn to her pile of books, ignoring the spoon melting away into a silvery pile atop the glittering mixture. “She said the Empress was going to keep you- Hubris bringing freedom- Oh, it’s here _somewhere-_ ”

“You knew Rose.” It wasn’t so much a question as a statement, Dirk’s mind finally threading all the mentions of _Jade_ together.

“I _know_ Rose,” Jade corrected sharply, “don’t start treating her like she’s gone! Just because she isn’t _here_ doesn’t mean she’d never coming back, that isn’t how these things work. Even death isn’t final if you know what you’re doing. Besides-” She turned, a book in her hand that she waved at them eagerly. “You’re going to find her, aren’t you? Kanaya came to the Court and they agreed to save her.”

“I do hate when you pull prophecies out of nowhere,” Jake muttered, and Jade snorted.

“These aren’t _prophecies,_ they’re just _observations_ that we got _early,_ that’s all. It’s no different from someone predicting the weather!”

“People don’t predict the weather two decades in advance.”

“Well they just need to get better at it!” She placed the book heavily down on a desk she dragged forward with her foot hooked around the leg, letting the pages fall open and tapping the neat lines of handwriting. “Rose didn’t tell me everything and I can’t fill in all the gaps, but it’s enough. An almanac until she came back, to make sure everything went smoothly and that I had what I needed to get by. It didn’t say you’d come to me, Dirk, but it said you’d be here, in Prospit, and all the things that means! One of the big signs of things changing! _The start of the end of the age_ , but Rose was always melodramatic with how she named things. She once called her cat _His Highness Among the Furred Beasts, Lord of the Twine and the Rodents, He Who Hunts Where Others Dare Not, Receiver Of The Mightiest Belly Scratches, Our Baron Jaspers the Second._ ”

“I feel like she was making fun of someone,” Jake muttered, and Jade giggled at him.

“She _might_ have been, but John’s name _was_ ridiculous, just like yours is.”

Dirk opened his mouth.

“ _Jacob, His Magnificence upon the Golden Throne, Heir to the Sun and Deliverer of the Moon, Our Lord English on High,_ ” Jade supplied grandly, as Jake’s cheeks went dark and he looked away. “John’s was longer, but they kept adding things on to slight him after he went… how he _went_ , which I’m sure you already know _all_ about. My favorite part was _Wielder of the Weighted Hammer and the Justice of One Heart Wronged,_ I thought that was clever of them! He hated it, obviously, but it was true and he was being an asshole! So it was only fair.”

“Everyone is awfully flippant about the fact he killed people,” Dirk glanced down at the book, tilting his head to try to read some. “Seems like you’re all pretty forgiving towards a mass murderer long as his blood is right.”

“John killed mainly _criminals_ , although his application of the death penalty was entirely inexcusable and I would agree there’s a need to debate the possible innocence of some of those he incarcerated- But the John I know wouldn’t _do_ those things anyway, and that’s _important._ ” Jade frowned, reaching over to press her hand over the page Dirk was trying to read. “Besides- He _was_ already punished, _more than once._ ”

“I notice he’s more alive that those criminals.”

“ _Exactly, Dirk._ ” Jade’s fingers curled against the paper, her expression tightening before she shook her head. “That was _one of his punishments._ ”

Before Dirk could question it, Jade had swept the book up, flicking back through it and settling on a page lined with clear verses, each with a small date beside it. Jake pointed accusingly and she sighed.

“ _Yes,_ Jake, _these_ are prophecies! But there aren’t many of them. The one about John is here…” She ran her fingertips down the page, starting to guide her eyes along each row of words. “ _Four times guilt and once redemption, one self-given deep detention, Prospit’s secret kept below, hidden with his own to know. First- when seems all hope has died, his own cold voyage is denied; next a gift which most would treasure can’t return what’s lost forever; third a promise soon at hand that once against his own he’ll stand; last what others seek to find is stolen from his bloodied mind. Five years before he’ll seek the light, but still the Sun has its own price- Beware a mirror once it’s cracked. You can’t take your choices back.”_

“That seems unnecessarily complex.”

“Well one of Rose’s _rules_ is she can’t just _give out_ information, she has to make people interpret and work for it. So… I know most of this. There’s an eventual _redemption_ that’s yet to come... And this is _mostly_ about when John was given four punishments, _not_ including locking himself in a cave, that was just him being dumb- though I don’t know what’s _his own to know._ ” She ran back through the lines, slower. “He thought we were all dead, I don’t know why but I remember the messenger coming to check on me, and he tried to- Well that should be obvious. He couldn’t do it and the Lady appeared to tell him tough shit, John! You’re stuck with yourself now, isn’t that great! So he can’t die until she’s done with him but only she knows when that’ll be. She gave him a power- he’s never been specific but I think it’s being able to change… _something?_ But the first thing he tried to do was stop Dave dying and… it can’t do _that._ The power to change something, but it can’t affect the one thing he cares about most.”

“The Lady?”

“Our Goddess, Dirk, keep up! Or… Well I guess she’s borrowed, but that isn’t _her_ fault. She’s nice, usually, but sometimes she can be firm, when people _really_ need it, and no one’s ever needed it more than John.” Jade tapped the next line, scoring below it lightly with her nail. “My guess is this one means she told him that at some point he’ll have someone turn on him? Or _he’ll_ turn… But I can’t see that happening! And the last one seems pretty clear? But I don’t know _what_ was taken.”

Dirk watched her face with interest, just as expressive as Jake could be but with a brightness to it that often faded from the features of the King. Jade’s eyes followed the last line slowly, once and then again, before she sighed.

“I don’t know what the very end means. Five years is clear, and he’s come back now, right? But why the Sun cares about that and what a mirror and a choice have to do with it… I don’t know. I’m good at understanding Rose’s weird poetry, but context helps, would you believe!”

“And what does interpreting it _do?_ ” Dirk asked more firmly, and Jade gave him a nonplussed look. “Like- I get it’s telling you future shit, but how does that _help_ you?”

“In John’s case? I’m not sure! Rose thought it was important for some reason, so she made sure it was here for me, but I don’t know _why_ yet! When the time comes I will, though, even if the prophecy was just a reminder of some kind, to stick in my head for when _I_ need it, or _you_ do, even, now I’ve told it to you!” Jade paused the flipped the page, humming as she looked across it. “Speaking of which- some are clearer, like John’s… and some _feel_ like warnings, or messages, but they make no sense! Like… _yours._ ”

_His?_ The idea anyone had mentioned him in any kind of prophecy seemed strange, but to think _Rose_ had done it made his skin prickle strangely. Why would she never mention that to him? Was this the first time she’d spoken to him- even by such an odd proxy- without someone else policing each of her words? Dirk’s eyebrows rose as Jade cleared her throat, starting to read again with a different tone to her voice.

“ _By his own hand heart half-hollow, grief once felt twice yet to follow, out his soul, off with his head, long live the Queen, the King is dead._ ”

“That makes… absolutely no sense.” Disappointment flooded him, hope of some _understanding_ lost beneath the nonsensical flow. “I… Maybe I get some of that? But I don’t get what the hell it’s meant to be _together_ or if I even got those bits _right._ ”

“Well- There’s another one here with your name on it!” Jade peered down at it, narrowing her eyes. “Which seems clearer… But…”

“What is it?”

“It just says- _you don’t have to do this._ ” Jade frowned. “But it’s not today’s date, it’s for… _soon_ , but not _now._ I have no idea what’s going to happen then! Just… that you don’t have to do it, apparently?”

“That’s not all that helpful.”

“Yes, but when the time comes, it might be helpful _then._ Reminders, remember? Even if they’re ominous, and slightly creepy! _Thanks,_ Rose.” With a huffed sigh she flipped the page a few more times, drumming a soft beat to the paper when she paused. “You’ll be able to piece it together when it’s time for you to know it, that’s what I’ve always found. Maybe it makes no sense now, but when you need to understand, you will.”

“I don’t suppose I have anything helpful in there?” Jake asked after the silence threatened to settle unpleasantly, the smile in his voice strained. Jade blinked out of her contemplative daze, then nodded, carefully searching for another passage.

“Here we are- Oh! Look at that, it’s for today! She knew you were coming, even if I didn’t.” She tipped the book up to stop Jake seeing as he darted forward to try to get a look, sticking her tongue out at him over the top of it. “Hey, buster! I’m the only one who gets to do dramatic readings of Rose’s brooding prophetic poetry, back off!”

“Did she leave you with that job, hm?” Jake slouched in defeat, and Jade snorted, though her smile was wide.

“No, of course she didn’t _leave_ me with it, but she knew I’d do it anyway! I’m not letting someone embarrass my wife by making all her weird poetry sound as lame as it really is.”

The words took a moment to register, and then Dirk’s eyes widened as he felt his cheeks heat like he was embarrassed he hadn’t known- _The Seer, if she wasn’t taken,_ Jake had said, and it hadn’t occurred to Dirk that moving straight onto Jade was _connected._

“You and… Rose, huh?” He managed, as Jade collected herself, and she closed her lips before she got to reading, smiling with a delighted blush.

“Yeah, _duh!_ The _boys_ weren’t going to have her, no way, not while I was there! We got married on the coast and it was _so_ sweet, even _if_ Dave’s speech was long enough it put some of the guests to sleep and John spiked our bridal wine with pepper- But we were expecting that, _obviously,_ which is why John’s chair had all the legs mostly sawn through and all the guests got pillows and blankets under their seats. Rose is _always_ well prepared.” Jade’s eyes were misted as they dipped, the first sign of anything that wasn’t bright, the first small cracks in a perfect veneer. “Which is why I know right now, she let that happen for a reason, and that’s got to be okay because she’d never have done it unless she _knew_ it was for the best and she _knew_ she’d come back. That’s how it’s always worked! That’s how it- That’s how it _has_ to be.”

“We’re going to save her,” Dirk reminded her firmly, more firmly than he’d felt until this moment. “Whatever it takes, we’re going to get her back, the Court all agreed and… I promise. You have my word, I’ll bring Rose back to you, one way or another.”

“She matters to you, too, doesn’t she?”

“She was the closest thing I had to family, her and Roxy. I love them both, and I’m not going to let anyone hurt them anymore. That’s… part of why I’m here.”

“Because you want to be stronger? To make a deal? That’s why most people come to me. They want to be stronger, smarter, they want the secrets of the universe- but I can’t guarantee that, Dirk. I don’t know _what_ you’ll get, Rose was the one who foresaw and guided, I just make the connections, and open the door. I don’t know what’s going to come through anymore.”

“But if I say no-”

“Then they can’t stay, but that’s _it,_ Dirk, you don’t get a second try.”

There was fear still in his heart, fear of pain, of disappointment, of what he might _become._ Memories of horror stories, of horrid _truths,_ and through it all the burn of his bare palms and the knowledge that whatever his reasons, whatever his convictions had become, that doing this would mean he would never be seen in Derse without fear- without _hatred._ That those who had once abided him would see the Demon in him, and abide him no longer.

Was it worth the chance for vengeance?

Was it worth being tainted in his home, if it meant his home might be _free?_

“One chance is more than I was going to get,” he murmured. “I owe it to Derse-” _To Dave-_ “-to try.”

“But is that the _only_ reason? The person who has to live with this choice is _you,_ Dirk… Don’t make it for other people.”

“I want to do this.” _You have to do this._ “This is one of the first choices I’ve made on my own- no matter my reasons, _I chose,_ and that should be enough.”

Jade nodded, slowly, then glanced at where Jake was still lingering and startled.

“ _Oh!_ Jake, sorry, right- Let me-” She cleared her throat again, looking down to the page. “It’s here.”

“You can take your time.” He managed a small smile, despite a concerned glance to Dirk. “There are more important things at hand- hah! Yes, quite- _at hand,_ after all.”

“It’s alright. The mix isn’t done anyway.” Jade nodded to the bowl, pausing and then stepping back to sweep up a shaker that she showered several clouds of dusky powder from, watching it form a swirling layer over the mixture before it all bubbled up into a foam. “Nearly there! So, for _now…_ ”

Jake watched expectantly as she put the shaker back and smoothed the book open fully, fingers moving to serve as her guide.

“ _Duty is a burden that a conscience shall outweigh, you know the path you wish to take and someday you’ll yet say, this world of yours is not the one that others had you know, but by your choice and by your heart one day the truth will show. Do not fear the open sea but fear your own locked door- No, it will not be the same, but it’s worth fighting for.”_

He absorbed it in a thoughtful quiet, inclining his head when Jade raised her eyebrows hopefully at him. “...Thank you. That one, at least, I understand entirely.”

Jade beamed and snapped the book shut, setting it down before she returned her full attention to the bowl. The spoon was still gone, but as she drew her hands over it and the mix began to move, foam settling into a glittering film that spiralled as it followed the pull of her guiding fingers above it. The fire spat, crackled, turned a green that made the metal of the bowl shine white-hot in response, and the brew bubbled within, each burst pocket of heated air letting out a different key until it was singing a discordant song that Jade seemed to know, whistling back to tune as it came. Another bottle was emptied, her hands reaching up and plucking one of the luminescent blooms from her home itself that she dropped into the bowl, watching it float before it shattered like glass and all the pieces were swallowed into blue- violet- a deep dusk and then all of a sudden the orange glow of the dawn, spreading in waves through the fluid until Jade pressed her hand downwards and a rush of gold bled from her shadow to consume the concoction entirely.

The fire died in the same instant, the room dimming but for the brightness of the potion that settled to a still pool, lighting Jade’s face from below as her fingers caught a few loose hairs by her ear and tucked them all behind it. She looked to Dirk, and the light was in her eyes and hair, turning them both to starshine.

“Are you ready?”

“No,” he answered truthfully, clenching his unmarked hands into tight fists by his sides. “Will I ever be?”

“No.” Jade smiled. “Let’s begin.”

She gathered the molten gold into a plain wooden cup, and for a moment Dirk fancied it might burst into flames from the heat. Instead, when she pressed the rough-hewn thing into Dirk’s hands it was cold, not a hint of the glow within escaping anywhere but at its mouth. He could feel the warmth on his face, smell ether in the herbs and wine, but there was nothing left to do, no room for him to refuse it.

He’d made his first choice. There was only one way to make his second.

With one last breath, Dirk pressed the cup to his lips and tipped his head back, flinching as heat poured tastelessly over his tongue, too scalding for anything else to survive. He coughed, choking as he felt the burn sliding down his throat, feeling like it was eating through him and consuming him from the inside out. He dropped the cup and barely heard it clatter across the ground over the ringing in his ears. His fingers grasped at his own chest and the pressure he felt within it, and even with the fabric to cover it the golden glow shone through them as it caught in his blood; it flourished outwards, bright branches shattering across him below his skin, bringing with them that same heat that had burned first but now dropped to something else entirely, coiling low in his belly as all the gold lit his nerves like the best kind of fire.

The room was sliding out of focus and he couldn’t tell who it was who caught him when his legs buckled, an arm around him that held him upright as fingers pressed to his chest and scalded like ice, searing through the warmth with frozen intent. He felt the hand searching his chest and its echo close around his heart, feeling each unpleasant pump into the frost that caught around it.

Then the ice drew back, and as heat rushed into the void it had left his lips parted around a sound of pleasured relief, the arm around him tightening as if in response. Everything seemed surreal, nothing but dancing lights and noises on the edge of hearing, a song without words that spoke all the same. Dirk felt drunk, high, and all of this was familiar but he couldn’t place _why,_ he knew this place where the world met dreams and it all bled together, the songs that wrapped around his thoughts and made them fall apart like a dandelion clock scattered in the spring.

Something grasped at him again from within, but this time it was hotter than the sun, red burning bright and closing around his vision. He was falling without end without ever moving but something caught him, wrapped around his senses and ensnared them with reins that pulled tight as somewhere that felt far away his head rose, his focus sharpened.

“ _That isn’t meant to happen-”_ He didn’t know the voice beyond words, a tone- too bright to be Jake even in distress- Jade, talking, words drifting in and out of his awareness. “- _too late now, it has to do-_ ”

Jake was close to him, saying something, a low murmur he knew only as a shiver down his spine. His hands reached, held, and he couldn’t remember if he’d wanted them to, a palm pressing to Jake’s cheek and then following the curve of his jaw, fingertips down his throat and _why do I have gloves, why do I need them, why-_

As if the complaints had been heard, the fabric was tugged and shifted, torn, dragged from his arms to leave them bare. He reached again, unable to think of a reason not to, but Jake’s grip was gone and the red ropes around his feet were all keeping him upright as he staggered, forcing himself to clutch at his own eyes, his own mouth, pressing back into what felt like a mask as the fog became Jade’s home once more, lit all shades of green that flashed and sparked and drowned him in the ether-sting.

Jade stood there before him with her hair of stars and moonlight, her arms raised and the world torn through her form, her eyes too bright to hold and her body distorting with a verdant flush, impossible vines that were made of the sky, endless darkness and the night above Derse. She was singing again, the same discordant sound, but now through the ring he could hear something else, older and deeper, chords that rang like Skaia was calling back in chorus as the mountains ground out a bass and the oceans washed an alto through the endless crash of storm-whipped waves. She was shaking, or the room around her was moving, Dirk couldn’t _tell,_ but she was the brightest light and the darkest void, she was a window and a doorway that flickered place to place, sight to sight, things he knew and things he didn’t, a cliff, a hill, a tomb, a throne-

And then all that remained was a silhouette and endless stars beyond it, stars he’d seen when he fell in Meenah’s arms, an ocean that didn’t drown him like a heat that didn’t burn him still coursed through his chest. He glowed with limitless promise and the stars answered, swirling into a cloud of the same hue as his chest that swelled- came closer- endless stars and endless possibilities, endless space and endless sounds. It moved, vast and unknowable, but he knew it in some part of himself that had _always_ known in one dream or another, impossible and never seen but vivid before him and in memories older than his body and his mind.

There was a ripple through the room as the stars suddenly came together into a whole, and then the air flooded outwards in a sweet breath as Jade collapsed backwards into a waiting chair, leaving behind an amber silhouette that crackled with the same white vines, the same sense of unreality, body shifting and fluidly changing as Jade’s image became slender, shorter, hair melting in as horns jutted upward, two sets of spears driving up with a crack of bone and a flare of sparks. It raised its fingers and they grew to jagged claws that were molten white at the tips, before all the light was gone like a new-forged blade doused in water, steam fogging the room as grey skin took the place of the brightness and amber lingered only to stain the twinned horns that weren’t ground down, bare and brazen in their inhumanity.

He- it seemed to be a _he-_ slowly cracked his neck, one way and then the other, gathering the shadows from the room into pants and boots and a silver belt to hold them. Then his eyes were on Dirk, mismatched but bright with fire, blood red and blue like the colour of the sky just after the sun dipped too low, holding him as firm as any iris might.

“Oh,” he said, and his tongue flicked out, forked and the colour of honey. “ _Another_ Strider? I thought we were done with you assholes.”

The Spirit stepped down from the slight platform Jade had been on, boots snapping sharp across the wooden floor as he advanced on Dirk and ducked his head to look him over clearly, mouth pulling thin with distaste when Dirk only managed a dazed blink in return.

“Yeah, _that’s_ predictable, what is it with you people and weird reactions.” With a snap of those claws Dirk’s head was blasted clear, and he gasped down a ragged breath as the red around him didn’t fade so much as _snap._ “Okay, that better, because I’m not doing the slurring thing or listening to you talk weird for an hour.”

“You’re one to- talk,” Dirk wiped at the sweat on his forehead and tried to shake away the tremor in his limbs, the warmth still clinging below them. “What the hell kind of voice even _is_ that?”

“If you make one more comment about my voice I’m going to personally send you to the farthest reaches of the land of the dead and collect you once the screams of the doomed have driven you to the brink,” he was told pleasantly, the threat clearer than the hitch of each _s_ behind the Spirit’s uneven fangs. “Or I’ll just kill you. I have time to do that if you turn coward, trust me, I _know._ ”

“Aren’t you meant to be endearing yourself to me?”

“Aren’t _you_ meant to be treating the huge supernatural entity in the room with, I don’t know, a bit less fucking sass.”

“Maybe the huge supernatural entity in the room should choose his words more carefully.”

“Wow. Congratulations. I thought the last two were smug pricks, but here we have it, the smuggest prick of all. Lucky for you, that’s _apparently_ my fucking _specialty._ ” He rose back to his full height, lanky as it was, skin taut across his chest in a way that showed bones that fell in all the wrong places. “Today on the Summoning lottery you’ve won Sollux, and if you even _pretend_ you don’t know that’s _not_ a _tee-aych_ at the start all my previous threats are back in play.”

Dirk closed his mouth.

“You know how this goes. You know what you came here for. I cut your palms you get your gifts, and both of them will be worth your time- You say no, we’re done, I go back to hunting jesters and water-breathers through all the realms but this one.”

“ _Both_ ,” Dirk repeated, mind fixing on the word. He wanted to look at Jake for confirmation, to _know. He’s difficult… choosy,_ Jake had said,and yet the same _he_ was apparently standing there with an amused look on his face, tongue flicking out again as he waited for Dirk’s response. “You give… two?”

“Twofold gifts and twofold pressure, yeah, that’s me.” Without any other explanation, Sollux offered his hand, palm to the sky. “Do we have a deal?”

Dirk watched in silence as Sollux’s palm blazed and the shadows gathered above it into a knife, black like the weapon he’d once brought to drive through Jake’s heart. The blade caught the light down its edges, both just as sharp and ready to slice, to draw his blood and mark him forever, an oath he only had to nod to take.

_She deserves this._

He frowned, words still dyed vivid red in the aftermath of his drugged haze.

_Yes! Yes, yes, yes!_

“Dirk, do _we_ have a _deal?_ ” Sollux repeated, and Dirk looked at him, heat in his blood turned cold as he nodded and raised his hand.

“Yes.”

Sollux took his wrist firmly, the grip snapping into place before he could resist it, but before the pain he expected came Sollux had flipped the knife into the air and grasped his other wrist just the same, pressing both his hands together as Dirk cried out in surprise. The knife caught the hues of Sollux’s eyes and drove down in a certain strike, and Dirk felt the air force his palms near flat to each other as the blade sliced into the narrow space between and left a trail of heat behind it on both sides that rushed up his arms, the gold that lingered in his veins turning to amber that crystalized into glowing facets, glass skin reflecting the room and the glow endlessly within each shard as the feeling rose and the glamour with it.

His hands fell apart with blood welling over each, mirrored cuts and mirrored promise.

The red ran in rivers over the crystal facets of his body as Dirk shuddered and felt it consume his chest, his neck, his face. It was everything and everything, the heat from the potion but amplified endlessly in on itself, echoes within echoes and all of it muddled with feelings that were his and feelings that _weren’t,_ a divide that had never felt so clear as when glass was spiking up it and turning a blurred line into a wall. He was shining with a light that was _inside_ him and he knew was his to _hold_ , a glow that was golden- emerald- blue for a moment before it froze into a fuchsia blaze that ran lightning up his arms and flooded the cuts as it burned them to scars.

He couldn’t tell what he felt anymore, just that it was too _much,_ it was _everything,_ every sense vivid and open without taking in anything but himself and the blood in his ears, the light in his eyes, the thrum of his heart like it was a coal-driven machine. Someone else was screaming and he was choking on his own breath as he fought to keep himself from tearing apart, clinging to his edges as they groaned under the pressure-

The glass shattered. Every part of him was breaking, each small part was coming to pieces, veins now cobweb cracks as he felt his substance threaten to give way and collapse to rubble. He couldn’t hold on and he knew it in that moment, felt himself slipping from his own grasp, a tower giving way as the weakness in it showed itself and turned it all to ruin.

“ _Dirk.”_

Jake said his name and the world was there, he wasn’t breaking, he was standing and drawing a stuttering breath into his lungs as he turned and looked at Jake and found him waiting, eyes wide and worried and hands reaching. Without a thought Dirk grasped out in return and took his hands, holding them firmly and feeling no pain, no shock, thinking only that he should’ve known better than to stain Jake’s gloves with his blood.

“I’m here, focus on me,” Jake let him draw closer, tightening his grip when Dirk stumbled. “There, there, you can do it, I know it’s a lot but just- breathe and stay with me, mate, you can do that, can’t you?”

“‘M here.” Dirk nodded slowly, regretting it when his head span and clinging to Jake’s hands like the lifelines they seemed to be. “Don’t let go.”

“I won’t.” Jake didn’t stop him when he stepped in, too close, too much, Dirk knew this was too far, but then he had pressed his face into Jake’s chest and one of Jake’s hands dropped his to pull around him, holding him steady as he let out a ragged breath and tried to force away the memory of shattering, of watching himself come apart when there was _nothing_ he could _do._ Jake held him and it felt like he was overloading, warmth all around him with a beating heart behind it that he could feel when his hand smeared a red path across Jake’s shirt to find his pulse. Each breath shuddered a little less as he felt the beat steady and slow, following it to try and count out each soft gasp and calm himself the same.

“I guess I should go sign in,” Sollux said behind him, and Dirk couldn’t bring himself to look, to move away from the comfort Jake provided. “Later, Strider, Harley, your _Highness._ ”

Dirk felt him go, the absence of a pressure he hadn’t noticed until it lifted, and Jake’s breath slipped out easier, his fingers shifting to lace with Dirk’s as his other hand curled into Dirk’s shirt over his spine.

“Just… let it out, Dirk, it’s alright. We have time, we have all the time you need.”

“I want to go home,” Dirk mumbled into his chest, and felt pathetic, childish in how it came out so weak and broken.

“I can’t get you-”

“To the Palace,” Dirk interrupted, and then realised what he’d _said_ , how honest the thought had been. _Home-_ That cot on the floor already felt more home than the city he’d known, and he choked as that realisation finally drew a sob out of him, wet and painful. Once the tears started they wouldn’t stop, a break in him he couldn’t fix fast enough, no red thread left to tie it back together. Empty white eyes, _not yet,_ betrayal and loss and the cold grasp of death, secrets left kept and cut palms and _home, home, there on the floor,_ Jake’s arms around him and his voice whispering nothings to try to soothe the pain away but it was _too much_ and Dirk couldn’t _take it anymore_ , the dam gone and each sob wracking his body with more agony than the deal he had been so afraid of.

_I want to go home,_ he choked out, again and again until Jake nodded and promised they were going.

Jake left a blanket over Jade and a thank-you pinned to it, lit the hearth again with the heat of his palms and took a cloak from a pile in the corner. He wrapped Dirk in the rough wool and kept an arm around him, turning the cobbles to a stairway back down to the street and leading Dirk _home_ with Dirk’s face and tears hidden beneath the grey cowl but his own hood pooled around his shoulders, defiant against the whispers chasing his face through the night.

Jake murmured a steady tide of calming words, easy like the merciful sea against the hull of a ship, quiet and endless as they washed the cold away.

“Do you need more water?”

It wasn’t the first time Jake had asked, and Dirk could only manage to summon the same non-committal shrug, watching dully as his glass was plucked up and returned a moment later filled back to near the brim. He dutifully took it, sipping between hiccups and small shudders, the dried tears on his face making his cheeks feel unpleasantly stiff where the wind had turned them bitterly cold. The water did little to help. It soothed the burn in his throat that ragged sobs of night air had left in their wake, but the feeling of being hollow, drained, like he had run all night up a mountain that refused to end- that didn’t fade, and nothing seemed to set his aching heart at peace.

He was gathered in his cot with the thin blankets around him like the cloak he’d shed along with the rest of his clothes, hands left uncovered and clean once Jake had helped him to their basin and watched him rinse his own dried blood away. Now the scars below were all that remained, neat lines of silver that ran from edge to edge between the two longest creases in his palms. He had expected them to stay sore, to feel as terrible as the act had felt, but there was nothing. He could feel the dip if he ran his fingers over them, but nothing else to mark their presence beyond the constant reminders in his thoughts.

This couldn’t be how it was meant to feel _._

So-

_Mundane._

The only real _change_ that had lingered after they reached the room he’d been so desperate to see was the feeling of _emptiness,_ of something _lost,_ like those fingers of ice he’d felt inside him had taken his heart with them and never given it back. Every attempt he made to fill that gap or just _ignore_ it, to just force away the emotions that still refused to let him go, met with a wall he couldn’t push beyond and the box he’d always envisioned trapped unreachably behind it. How a Spirit had stolen his dreams, he didn’t know, but each attempt to claw past it was weaker, his strength faded and leaving numb sorrow in its place.

Jake sat on the edge of the higher bed, eyes sad beneath the pained slope of his brows. His hands were still covered in leather turned dark by blood, fingers tightening into the sheets he was clutching between his fretful trips to fill Dirk’s glass. They hadn’t spoken much beyond the questions - _more water, more blankets, do you need to eat, do you need anyone?_ Dirk’s answers had been short, muttered on hoarse breath, but Jake had set about anything he could diligently and without complaint, returning to his post after and continuing to look like he was on the verge of saying something else before another pointless question slipped out to be met by a muted answer.

Dirk couldn’t focus on him for long without muddled thoughts of laced fingers and his beating heart clouded his eyes again, threatening to bring fresh tears as his lip trembled. It _had_ been too much, just liked he’d expected. Something he’d been coping without that was now so _close_ but still felt beyond his reach, bound behind unspoken words and, worse and foul to recall, _I’m not sure I’m ready to face it._

Dirk’s breath stuttered in a silent sob, catching in his throat. It wasn’t meant to be like this. It _hadn’t_ been like this, before, he’d been able to contain it, control it!

Why couldn’t he, now?

Why was everything so _quiet_?

“Dirk-” Jake started, rolling his lip below his teeth before his shoulders slumped in the same, repetitive defeat. “Sure you aren’t hungry?”

“Yeah,” he rasped back, and Jake nodded, gaze dropping to his own feet.

It was a strange silence, between them. Dirk couldn’t tell if Jake was waiting for an explanation or just some sign the mood had passed; if it was the first, he didn’t have one to give. It felt like weight had been piled on a board above him that he’d been managing to hold up, but the board had shattered and all the weight had tumbled down to bury him, each small cut he hadn’t noticed collectively enough to drain his bleeding heart. The scar around his throat burned with the ghost of his life ending, each breath made tight by memories of Jack’s empty laughter and emptier eyes, and the blinding light that had burned everything else to insignificance after. He’d thought he was coping, even if _Jane must hate me, Meenah must pity me, Karkat doesn’t trust me, Jake won’t hold me-_

“ _Stop_ ,” Dirk whispered, pressing his face against his knees, and Jake stilled, the soft creak of his fidgets coming to an end. It wasn’t another voice in his mind, now, it wasn’t words dyed any shade, it was his own thoughts and he knew them even as they cut at him, the things he couldn’t lock away. He’d taken his box for granted and somehow it was gone, and after so long free of it Dirk found himself remembering his worst enemy was his own mind let loose.

“Dirk,” Jake tried again, with more purpose, “are you going to be alright down there?”

This question was new, and Dirk raised his head to look up at his companion with furrowed brows and eyes turned ugly by the stress and the tears.

“...Why wouldn’t I be?” There were a thousand answers, and he’d played them all through his mind before he finished the question. “It’s my bed.”

“Because you… You seem…” Jake’s fingers dipped into the sheets, the cotton and silk pulled taut around them. He bit at his lip with a frustrated rush of air from his nose and sharply released one hand to raise it and grasp at words that apparently eluded him. “You seem _lonely,_ you _know_?”

“You’re a foot away from me.”

“I could be less.”

Something slammed into Dirk’s chest and held it like a vice as he spluttered on another sob, ducking his head and covering it over as Jake flinched and covered his mouth.

“ _Shit-_ Sorry, I shouldn’t have-”

“No, _no,_ ” Dirk’s voice was as unsteady as he felt when he stood, the cot creaking beneath him as he stumbled off it with his blankets still trailing after him like a cape. “I- _Please_.”

“Up here, then?”

“I wouldn’t have you sleeping on the floor, your Highness.”

“Oh, _don’t._ ”

“My apologies.” He paused to take a breath that was painful in his throat, his smile broken. “I’ll submit my formal repentance to you in triplicate, all signed to your full- what was it? _Jacob, His Magnificence upon the something something, etcetera, etcetera, Lord English but just call me Jake._ ”

“You shouldn’t be speaking so much, you sound terrible.” Jake reached after a moment and ran his hand up Dirk’s arm, squeezing at his elbow. “It’s… good to hear you speaking at _all_ , though, so I suppose I can’t stand by my own complaint.”

Dirk’s cheeks gained a little colour as he hoarsely laughed the thought away, nudging at Jake’s leg with his toes. “You gonna move over so I can get in or we just going to sit on the edge of the bed and hold hands like blushing virgins all over again?”

“Aren’t you going to put on nightclothes?”

“If you _want_ me to.”

“...I don’t mind, really.”

“Then no.” Dirk nudged him again. “Don’t offer a man some comfort and then block the way like you mixed up the meanings of _door_ and _wall_.”

Jake laughed softly, before looking down at his gloves, rubbing his thumb over the fingers of his other hand. “Do… _you_ mind… if I..?”

“I don’t care if you want to keep them on-”

“No.” He glanced away, then finally looked up, gaze flitting between Dirk’s eyes in the search for a silent reply. “If I take them _off_ , Dirk.”

“I would’ve thought by now it’s clear I’m-” His breath stuttered at the wrong moment, and he raggedly dragged in air to replace it. “I’m not exactly opposed.”

Jake stopped being able to meet his gaze. “You’ve had it explained now, _and_ this situation is a lot more… If it would make you uncomfortable, tell me.”

“I’m not sure your scandalous palms compare to having me gracing your bed with my uncontained glory.”

“ _That’s_ a dreadful name for it.”

“I didn’t- No. You know what? Yes, _yes,_ I did.” Dirk hiccuped out a pathetic little laugh. “Gaze upon my _uncontained glory_ in wonder, and know you’re in the presence of true beauty.”

“I’m not going to-” Jake snorted and turned his face away when Dirk put his hands on his hips, sheets falling grandly down his back. “Sun and stars, _don’t,_ I’ll change my mind about the nightclothes.”

“You wouldn’t take it back _now,_ Jake, you _know_ there’s too few hours in the night to spend so much time on laces.”

“Get in before I change my mind _completely._ ”

“I would, but there’s this Golden Ass still in my way.”

Jake finally stood, stepping aside and bowing as he gestured dramatically to the empty bed. “Does _this_ please the Prince?”

“The Prince is appeased.” Dirk nodded solemnly, shuffling forward and crawling over the sheets with all his blankets trailing after him. Jake’s bed was far softer than the cot, dipping beneath his knees and steadying hands and feeling like it might swallow him when he finally smoothed his blankets out over himself and curled up beneath them. It felt ridiculous, suddenly, his head on a pillow that smelled like Jake’s clothes when he folded them, his gaze on the wall as he listened to the buckles on Jake’s gloves giving way. “Hah. I haven’t willingly slept in someone else’s bed since I was a child.”

“...Willingly?” Jake repeated, and just like that, the respite broke.

Dirk barely felt the cold before his strained breath came apart into a messy sob, a panicked leap of his heart spiking pain through his heaving chest. Everything he’d started to build back inside himself was hollow as he covered his mouth to try to stop the next agonised sound that bubbled out of him. All he could hear was a ringing in his ears and his rushing blood dull below it, rapid like the breaths that wouldn’t slow, fire in his lungs as he struggled to stop, _stop,_ not sure what he was fighting against even as it dug claws into his chest and tore him back apart.

A hand closed around his arm and for a moment he saw painted nails, sharp like the talons ripping his gut to ribbons- But the nails were blunt, and dark, grip tightening as he jolted to almost strike upwards at their owner and then gasped frantically through the aftershocks of the pure terror that had lanced without warning down his spine.

“Dirk- _Dirk,_ I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m here-” Jake was there, voice muffled as the alarm bells in his mind kept drowning out the world. “Tell me what to do, what can I do- Do you want water? Do you want me to go?”

“ _No,_ ” he grabbed Jake’s wrist and didn’t let go, hand shaking with how firm he held him. “Don’t go, _don’t go,_ I don’t want to be alone, I don’t want-” He choked, and he hadn’t realised he was crying again but his vision was blurring out of focus and his cheeks were hot. “I don’t want-” Everything was spinning, falling without moving, he knew he was panicking but now there was nothing but Jake to hold onto, no inner voice calling him back from the brink as he slipped and the flashing colours in his thoughts became a gloss-stained smile, a hand on his throat. “I didn’t w- _want-_ ”

“Stay with me,” Jake took his wrist in turn, pulling him upwards. The blankets slipped and the room was ice, his skin was frosted over with fear, he could hear chains, _chains,_ metal that left bruises on him when she wrapped it around her hand and _dragged-_

“Stay with me,” again, and the image parted, his hand was grasping at Jake’s chest and shoulder and Dirk was pulling close to the only thing he knew was _real_ as fingers clawed at him and picked him clean down to his bones.

_It’s not real, it’s not, it’s not-_ but it _felt_ real, all of it, everywhere but where Jake’s heat burned it away and made it pale in comparison. The scavenging ghosts fled as Jake’s arms closed around him entirely, scalded by molten gold that poured down his shoulders and frightened the ice away. Dirk gasped, coughed, spluttered- Then he buried his face in Jake’s shoulder and clung to him desperately, leaving scratches across his back in his urgency to hold fast to the one fragment of reality he trusted not to fade.

“I’m sorry,” Dirk could barely breathe but he forced it out, shaking as he felt fresh tears spill over his paled face. “I’m sorry!”

“Hey now, I don’t think you need to apologise for _anything,_ mate- But-” Jake’s voice dropped, so soft and gentle even as it burned vivid through the disjointed divide between what was real and the lingering presence of what wasn’t. “But it’s alright, Dirk, I forgive you if that’s what you need, okay? I forgive you.”

Relief grew in Dirk like the blooms of the bindweed wrapped around his lungs and limiting his breath, but it was _something,_ enough to lessen the chill weight pressing down on him so he could finally start to get in enough air that he didn’t feel like he was drowning. Jake rubbed his back, hot palm splayed out across his skin, trembling when the motion paused and his fingers briefly curled in place.

“You’ve never touched anyone,” Dirk murmured when his mind was clear enough to manage the words, the thought incessant, all he could find to focus on.

Jake’s hand paused, another tremor passing through it. “...Not like this.”

“It shouldn’t- have been this way, I’m sorry, I keep- I keep taking things from you.”

“You haven’t taken anything I didn’t give by choice,” Jake soothed. “I promise, I’d tell you otherwise. Just try and breathe, Dirk, we’ll get you some water and then… then we’ll get to bed.”

“Don’t need _water_ ,” he mumbled, gripping tight to stop Jake moving.

“You may well think that, but Morning Dirk’s throat will thank you for taking my advice. I don’t have to get it _right_ now,” Jake added, as Dirk’s arms pulled him even closer. “Just before we sleep, you know? I can see how much this has all taken out of you.”

“Is it always like this? Being bound?”

Jake fell quiet, then shook his head, something Dirk felt in the slight sway of his shoulders. Dirk spluttered a bitter laugh- of course. _Of course._

“It’s different for everyone,” Jake paused, then admitted, “but I’ve never heard of it being like this. I don’t know why it hit you so hard, Dirk.”

“It didn’t hit me, it… it let me hit _myself._ ”

Jake didn’t have a reply to that, beyond the returning sweep of his calming touch up and down Dirk’s spine. They sat in silence until Dirk’s grip loosened enough for Jake to get him the promised water, and Dirk downed it with only a single mumbled complaint. He watched Jake return it, empty, to beside the jug, and then Jake was there on the bed with him, sitting and looking Dirk over with a painful concern tugging downwards at the corners of his mouth.

“You’ll be alright?” Jake took his hand when Dirk reached for him, their fingers falling together without pause.

“I don’t know.”

Jake took the truth with a frown, but nodded all the same, moving closer on the bed as Dirk shuffled over and met him halfway.

“Well- You’ll tell me, if there’s anything I can do?” Jake leaned forward on his other arm, and all Dirk could think of was how much larger he was, broad and encompassing, a soft kind of strong. Dirk felt small with him- he _always_ felt small with him, but it wasn’t a fearful kind, it was a contrast he liked as much as he liked the way that even in the gloom he could pick out the lines of their locked fingers by the difference in shade, as much as he enjoyed the moments their Sun and Moon came out in their speech and mirrored each other like the beacons above that had given them name.

It was all too easy to feel like his fingers fit with Jake’s like they were made to be there, just as it was easy to feel like his place in Prospit had always been waiting for him to fill it.

Gaps left in his shape, contrast that complimented.

How quickly he’d called this place _home_.

“I’ll tell you,” Dirk promised, and he didn’t for a moment think it was anything but earnest. When had Jake become a comfort? He didn’t _know._ He wasn’t sure when he’d started being steadied by him, felt _weak_ for how little it had taken; but he didn’t let go of him, or _want_ to. He didn’t shy away, no matter the urges to deny himself this moment, this man, surely more than he deserved to have-

But he didn’t _have_ him, did he?

“When…” A breath, and he lifted his head, looking up into Jake’s eyes. “When do you think you’ll be ready? To... face this?”

Jake glanced to their linked hands as Dirk squeezed, brows knitting above his troubled frown.

“I don’t want to be wrong,” he said at last. “Dirk, I care for you- That much _anyone_ could see, and I’m not fool enough not to think so. It’s a matter of _how much,_ and I… I need more time to know. If I run headfirst into something and I- hurt myself, hurt _you_? I don’t know if I could cope with that. I’ve made mistakes before- rushed in like that, to things that mattered far _less._ I won’t do it again. Not… like this, not to you.”

It hurt, like he’d been slapped, but Dirk didn’t move away, gritting his teeth through the rolling urge to let out tears he didn’t have left. The sting in his nose made him feel as disgusted with his own weakness as with how sharp the pain of such a gentle rejection was in his stomach, a knife driven deep and twisted by the fact _he_ cared too much to do anything but nod, unwilling to do anything that might hurt the man he’d been ready to kill, once.

“Dirk, this isn’t a no,” Jake murmured, and Dirk nodded again, stiffer. He closed his eyes so he didn’t have to look at Jake’s face- he didn’t want to see the pity he knew would be there. “Please… I’m still here, that hasn’t changed- nothing has _changed._ ”

Dirk didn’t respond, counting out his breathing, refusing to crack open _again_ after barely pulling himself back together. Nothing had changed, except _everything,_ all he’d known and all he’d thought he _was,_ all of it gone and plated in gold that shone the colour of sunlight and drowned out the shades of the night. He swung between feeling liberation and a new form of trapped; he felt his own person, at _last,_ but the man in the mirror was painted in amber and umber, bronze and straw, no dusk left in his features and little in his heart. Was he really so quick to abandon who he’d thought he was? Or was _this_ , this pain in his heart there by his own choosing, this heat in his hand and the place he’d called _home,_ was _this_ the truth he’d finally cut through all the lies of his past to _see_?

The bed creaked as Jake put more weight on his own arm, and Dirk tried to find what to say, to explain he _understood,_ even if it stung, even if he wished he _didn’t-_

He felt the warm pressure against his forehead before he registered Jake had moved, a soft touch that lingered just long enough for him to grasp before Jake’s nose brushed just below it and the same brief heat touched one eyelid and then the other, fleeting against them but there all the same.

Jake drew back from the soft kisses as Dirk’s eyes fluttered open, and any thought of words was replaced by something warm in his chest.

“It isn’t a _no,_ ” Jake repeated, and this time the words seemed different, more hopeful in Dirk’s mind. “You look exhausted- I think that’s enough of all this for today.”

They settled with a few awkward fumbles as they both put their hands in the same place, apologised, bumped legs and nearly hit heads. Neither seemed eager to move apart, to give each other _space_ that might’ve been used to settle without those clashes- but in the end they ended up lying beneath one of Dirk’s blankets, Jake’s arm still loose around his shoulder and Dirk’s head against his chest. He could hear that beat again, steady and slow, watching his own fingers as he spread them over Jake’s heart and pressed his palm down to his skin, closing his eyes to focus on the pulse.

Now and then Jake shivered, fingers catching at Dirk’s back, breath hitching. He might have murmured a _goodnight,_ but Dirk couldn’t tell for certain- all he knew was the warm comfort finally easing his nerves, unwinding the tension that had been aching through his body. Jake was warm and living, soothing just by being there to hold, to _feel._

He hadn’t had this kind of comfort offered so freely since the last time Roxy had let him lean against her after a nightmare, humming him a lullaby after her soft teasing faded.

Roxy- He hadn’t thought of her enough, since he’d come here, even after hearing she might be in danger. Dimly, guilt crept among the warmth, Jake’s deep breaths lulling him closer to sleep and the thoughts only just appearing fading just as quickly. The last time they’d been together before their fleeting goodbye they’d gathered food and scrap, found pretty trinkets Roxy would hoard like a magpie up in her attic room and then took the makeshift meals down by the Wall, left it for the beggars there and sat on the edge of a roof to watch the man who came to collect the offerings just like he had each time before. Roxy span a fanciful tale of who he might’ve been in the life he doubtless had before the misfortune he had come to suffer now, and Dirk had leaned against her shoulder and laughed, soft so it wouldn’t be heard, gentle like the breeze that carried in from the sea and whispered of a place he hadn’t yet known he’d soon call home.

They’d spoken of the nobles now clothed in fragments of once regal wear, spoken of why they might’ve ended up so destitute. Roxy pointed out a vagabond she swore had once run the Treasury; a vagabond she declared had been Mayor of Lower Derse. Dirk wondered as he curled his fingers against Jake’s chest how many of those people had been loyal to his brother, before. How many of them had lost everything through nothing more than association with a time the Empress wanted purged from memory, and how many of them were lucky to have ended up forgotten but breathing instead of meeting their end on the point of a knife.

He wondered if Roxy had ever known, if Rose had ever told her the truth and pressed a finger to her lips with promises of silence. If in all her stories she had threaded something honest, and he had been the one who never paid enough attention to catch the bigger picture she hid fragments of between unimportant details he obsessed over.

That night Roxy had been smiling, face framed in silver, and at the time he’d thought nothing of the moment, the sight, so common he took it for granted; now he dwelled on it even as the image dulled, something precious that might be lost to him forever.

He hoped she was safe, wherever she was. He hoped that he would see her again.

Dirk slipped away with the thought lingering in his mind, words turning fuchsia as they winked out one by one.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Uh oh.

**Author's Note:**

> I can be found on [Tumblr](http://khemi.tumblr.com/), and [prompts are welcome](http://khemi.tumblr.com/ask)!

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [No Choice At All](https://archiveofourown.org/works/7148879) by [cyanideSweetheart](https://archiveofourown.org/users/cyanideSweetheart/pseuds/cyanideSweetheart)




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